


boo?

by vonseal



Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Character Death, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Comedy, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Rated M for violence and language, Romance, Strong Language, Violence, crude language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-02-18 05:30:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 63,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13093407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vonseal/pseuds/vonseal
Summary: there was a wall that separated kim myungjun from yoon sanha. there should have been a wall, then, that separated the living from the dead, but myungjun supposed he wasn't fortunate enough for that. he just has to deal with being haunted.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **FAIR WARNING.** this fic is crude. gonna flat-out say it here, it's HIGH teen rating material? there is a death (first chapter, enjoy) and there'll be a lot of language and other situations throughout this fic, so please take all of this into account before reading.
> 
> that being said, i hope you enjoy my newest chaptered fic?
> 
> (the slight myungbin in this is NOT the myungbin epilogue to mister underwear model that i keep promising everyone. pls hang tight.)

Myungjun hated most everything about where he lived.

The apartment complex was falling apart, the landlord having long given up on ever caring for the place. Often times, it would become infested with bugs; Myungjun had to deal with roaches, and bed bugs, and termites, and the landlord would hold off on hiring exterminators in order to save on funding. There were drug deals that everyone knew of, and no one did anything about. Alcohol use was rampant, and Myungjun was constantly evading drunkards in the early mornings on his way out of the complex to school.

And his next-door neighbor was an avid gamer.

Honestly, Myungjun could deal with most everything else. He could deal with the less-than-ideal living conditions, but whenever he heard his neighbor screaming at his computer throughout the night, he hated _that_ most of all. He hated the sounds of gunfire, the frustrated, loud cursing that could be heard through the thin walls, and the way his neighbor would throw something if he didn't win one of his games.

Sometimes, Myungjun would yell back. He'd tell the kid to shut up, he'd shoot forth insults, he'd _beg_ for peace and quiet, but it was mostly to no avail.

His boyfriend could always tell when it was one of _those_ sorts of nights.

“Christ, Myungjun,” Bin would mumble whenever Myungjun would appear for school. “Out of everyone I know, you have the most _amazing_ dark rings under your eyes.”

Myungjun would moan and lean into Bin. “Is it that bad?” he whined, jutting out his lower lip in a pout.

Bin would look him over and smile brightly, as if happiness could offset his previous words. “Even if it is,” he would say, “you're still the cutest person in existence!”

At least Bin always had coffee, which was kind of him, and he would willingly share it with Myungjun without even needing to be asked. As Myungjun would sip at the warmth in an attempt to perk himself up, Bin would fix his hair, his fingers gentle as he combed through knots that Myungjun hadn't bothered with working on himself.

He would always offer to beat up Myungjun's neighbor, as well, mostly joking, sometimes serious. “He could probably do with a good ass-kicking,” Bin would say, cracking his knuckles.

Myungjun would roll his eyes as they headed together into the school building. “He's only fifteen. I think we're above beating up a child.”

“Well, _you_ are, since you're in your last year. See, I'm still young. I can still go after him.”

“But let's not do that.”

“If you say so. But just let me know, and I'll be ready at a moment's notice.”

As tempting as the offer was, really, to beat up the kid who had no regard for anyone else but himself, Myungjun would much rather get through school without an assault charge hanging over his head. After all, he had already made himself as unpopular as he could be – hand-me down clothes from his older brother that hung on his frame, the cheapest phone option available to him, dating a _boy_ who also happened to be the star soccer player of their school. It was like Myungjun _asked_ everyone to hate his guts.

Beating up a little kid would just be the cherry on top.

So Myungjun dealt with it. He took solace in the knowledge that his neighbor would typically be in school for longer than Myungjun was, and so he would usually have a few hours to finish homework, or to catch up on sleep. It was the most peaceful hours of his life (save for the dates Bin would plan for them, usually away from everyone else, making out underneath the stars).

And then he would hear his neighbor's door slam open and footsteps hurry inside, and he would groan.

It didn't help that their bedrooms were adjacent to each other, separated only by the thinnest wall known to mankind.

(Myungjun had a theory that it wasn't even a wooden wall, as all the others were. It was some kind of unknown material, maybe something an alien made, that willingly allowed sound to travel through with no form of barrier to stop it.)

The night of an important exam, he heard his neighbor gaming again, and he instantly knew it would be going all night long. He balled his hands up into fists and banged on the fake wall a few times, until he heard the game pause.

(He hated that he knew the music of the pause screen. He _hated_ that it was all so familiar to him.)

“Hey, asshole!” he called out. “I'm studying!”

It was quiet for a second, and then he heard the boy laugh. “Sucks to be you!” was his response.

Myungjun grit his teeth down. He _knew_ he couldn't let some fifteen-year old brat get under his skin, but he couldn't help it. The boy was insufferable. “For _one fucking night_ , can we just keep the game turned _down?_ ”

“It's an important battle!” the boy yelled.

“And I have an important test!”

“What's it matter to you so much for? You'll fail it, anyway, because you're stupid!”

And then the game was back on again, and it sounded louder than before.

Myungjun had it, honestly, with the boy's attitude, and he scrambled up from his bed, fuming with anger as he stormed out of his room.

His mother was on the couch, a cigarette hanging from his mouth as she lazily watched television, oblivious to most anything else but her shopping network.

“Mom, I'm going to go talk to that jackass next door. Do you _hear_ how loud he has his game up? It's inconsiderate! I'm trying to study!”

His mother shrugged. “Just sleep in here,” she offered.

“I'm not _sleeping_ right now. I'm _studying_.”

“Well, don't study too hard. It can cause headaches.”

Myungjun huffed and grabbed his jacket from the nearby chair. “I'm studying as hard as I can so I can get out of this hell-hole,” he commented.

He ignored his mother's question of, “What did you say, Myungjun?” and instead hurried out of his apartment.

He didn't even know what he was supposed to say to the kid, but he knocked angrily anyway, multiple times, until, finally, the front door opened, and he was face to face with the demon boy himself.

The demon boy _had_ been smiling for a second, but when his gaze dropped lower to see Myungjun, his expression dropped, as well. “You're not Mom,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Good thing I'm not. God, I feel sorry for her, having to come home to _you_.”

The boy moved to close the door, and Myungjun stuck a foot out to stop it. “Look, I'm sorry, Sanha, that was rude, but let's talk, okay?”

Sanha stared from behind the door at Myungjun for a few seconds before sighing loudly. “Mom said I'm not supposed to open the door for anyone but her.”

“You know me pretty well at this point.”

“We never talk.”

“We do every night!”

“That's just you yelling at me, because you're a jerk.”

Myungjun thought about calling Bin and taking him up on his offer.

But then he reminded himself of the assault charges, of the absolute trouble he would be in if he went to jail, of all his hard work being flushed down the toilet just because he couldn't handle another year living with the devil beside him.

“Sanha,” Myungjun said after taking a deep breath, “I'm really, seriously trying to finish my homework. I need to get good grades, because then I can pass my university exams and I can get out of this place. You want me gone, too, right?”

Sanha nodded his head enthusiastically.

“Great, so we both want me out of here. And the best way to do that is to keep quiet at nights like this, so that way I can study.”

Sanha's eyebrows furrowed together. “When am I supposed to play my video games, then?” he asked. “I'm at school all day. Nights are the only time I can _play_.”

Myungjun stuffed his hands into his pockets so that he wouldn't throttle Sanha. “How about you play for an hour, then? And it can be right when you come home from school. Then we can both study – hey, I'll even help you, if you want! I can come over and work on your homework with you!”

He knew his offer was _beyond_ sweet. He knew any _normal_ child would probably go for that. Sanha, though, was a spawn of Satan, and simply smirked instead. “How about,” he said, his high-pitched voice way too sinister for his own good, “you stop trying to act like my damn mom, and I'll just play whenever I want to play, because you don't control my life!”

Before Myungjun could say anything, Sanha suddenly, quickly, stomped onto his foot, digging his heel into Myungjun's toes. The older boy jumped back with a screech, and as he tried to nurse his wounded foot, Sanha's door slammed shut in front of him.

Myungjun looked up at the door in shock.

“Wow!” he exclaimed loudly, and then he kicked at the door with his good foot. “Fucking _wow_ , Yoon Sanha, you little ass!”

He could have probably stood outside cursing the kid out all night long, but it was cold, and he decided he should probably ice his foot, and he also _really_ needed to finish studying, as best he could. So, instead, he just kicked the door once more, for good measure, then returned to his own apartment, slamming _his_ door shut behind him and shoving the jacket off his body.

His mother didn't look much perturbed by his behavior. She simply continued to smoke, sparing him only a quick glance and a roll of her eyes. “You're irrational,” she murmured.

Myungjun didn't care what she thought, though. Myungjun simply holed himself up in his room, angrily texting Bin the proceedings (and rejecting the boy's help to 'make things right') and trying (and failing) to focus on the important study guide he had laid out all over his bed. Papers were everywhere, and things were marked in the order in which they needed to be completed, but Myungjun couldn't concentrate when Sanha had turned the volume to his game up even _more_ , probably just to piss Myungjun off.

Myungjun banged on the wall a few times; Sanha just banged back, and then laughed.

Sleep was difficult to attain that night. Myungjun had all but given up on studying, promising himself he would wake up early and head to school to finish what he couldn't get done. He decided he should probably give up on sleep, too, as it appeared Sanha really wasn't going to cease his gaming any time soon.

(He thought, once, about actually sleeping in the living room, where his mother had offered him a spot, but he remembered all of the cigarette smoke, and the possibility of one of her many boyfriends crashing there for the night, and he decided to forgo the idea.)

He drifted off once, only to be awoken by the renewed efforts of Sanha as the boy tried to keep the entire neighborhood awake. Myungjun heard cursing from the game now – he wondered if Sanha's mother was aware of the crude games her young son would play. He heard slamming around, too, and, suddenly, he heard Sanha's voice: “Stop _it!_ ” It came out in a scream, louder than usual, and Myungjun rolled over, stuffing his pillow over top of his head. He couldn't believe Sanha was _this petty_ to start making such a fuss and keep him up for even longer through the night.

Sanha was banging on the wall then, loud and repetitive, and Myungjun tried to block it out – a difficult feat, when his bed was pushed right up against that wall.

Finally, Myungjun hit the wall right back, yelling, “Go to sleep, you little asshole!”

The banging stopped, and Myungjun blinked in confusion when he heard what sounded like crying.

Since when did Sanha cry at video games?

“Myungjun!” the boy screeched, sobs cutting through his words. “Help!”

And, suddenly, there was a loud _bang_. Myungjun definitely recognized a gunshot when he heard it, due in part to all of Sanha's violent shooters that he liked to keep turned up loudly. This didn't sound like it was coming from the muffled, old speakers the boy used, though. This sounded clearer, louder, _realistic_.

Sanha was silent.

Myungjun sat up quickly, staring at the wall and taking heavy, deep breaths. He could hear the talking still, men discussing something in low voices, and then he heard footsteps. He listened closely, recognizing the front door to Sanha's apartment open, then slam shut again.

He heard the video game still playing it's music. It was paused.

“Oh my god,” Myungjun whispered, pulling his knees up to his chest, his eyes widening as he gazed at the wall.

Sanha wasn't speaking anymore.

“Sanha?” Myungjun called out. He leaned in closer, trying to still his own panicked breathing. He prayed for a sign that Sanha was moving, something, _anything_ , that would show that the entire ordeal had just taken place in Myungjun's sleep-deprived mind, that things were still fine, that Sanha was _alive_.

There was nothing, save for the sounds of police sirens in the distance.

Myungjun's stomach dropped, and he moved away from the wall, to the far end of his bed, staring at it in alarm.

Sanha was dead.

Something had happened. He didn't know _what_ it was, only knew that Sanha's mother was away, that the video game was still playing, and someone had, for some reason or another, shot Yoon Sanha.

Sanha had been crying for help.

Sanha had been _trying_ to get Myungjun's attention, and Myungjun's last words to him-

“Oh my god,” Myungjun felt tears spring to his eyes, and he wrapped his own arms tightly around himself in shock.

He had ignored it all, simply because he thought it was a ruse, he thought it was what happened every other night.

The police sirens were closer now, right outside the complex. Myungjun could hear other people nearby, murmuring to themselves outside of his front door, probably wondering just what had happened in Apartment 39.

And Myungjun could only sit there, shakily, as he finally heard the police run up the hallway and open Sanha's front door, the same door Myungjun had just been staring at earlier that evening, and as they went to find Sanha, the same Sanha Myungjun had yelled at for most of his high school life.

Myungjun didn't know how long he sat on the far side of his bed, his knees pulled close to him and his bottom lip bleeding from how often he kept chewing at it. He wondered what would have happened if he did something _else_ , if he didn't think it was Sanha messing with him, if he actually heeded the yelling and Sanha's screaming. He wondered if he could chalk it up to a “boy who cried wolf” type of situation, or if the blame was fully on him.

Things quieted down in the apartment complex, finally, just as the sun began to rise. Myungjun didn't feel very tired as he normally would have, and he didn't feel the gut-wrenching anger in his stomach as per usual. Instead, he felt loaded over with fear and guilt.

Poor Sanha.

“I'm sorry, Sanha,” Myungjun whispered, his voice quivering, and he buried his head into his knees. “I'd d-do _anything_ to make it up to you. I wish I could have helped.”

 _Anything?_ his inner voice asked him. It strangely sounded a lot like Yoon Sanha. It made Myungjun all the more upset.

“Anything!” he cried, wiping his tears across his sweatpants. “I'll do _anything!_ ”

The voice was silent for a second, and then Myungjun felt a rush of cold overtake him. He shivered and picked his head up, rubbing at his eyes and blinking in confusion when he heard a voice from beside him.

“Myungjun?”

It was no longer in his head, but it still sounded an awful lot like Sanha. Myungjun glanced over and he gasped.

“Sa-Sanha?”

How could it have been Sanha? If he was _dead_ , how come Sanha was sitting right here, looking incredibly pale for a young boy with such normally-red cheeks as his own. If he was _shot_ , then how come he still held a bullet hole in his chest, but was breathing like a regular, _living_ person. If he had been _there_ , how was he suddenly _here?_

Sanha looked equally confused, and he felt at his body for a few seconds before noticing the wound on his heart.

“Huh,” he murmured.

“Wha-What the _fuck_ is going on?” Myungjun asked, scrambling backwards. “Y-You're _dead!_ ”

“Yeah,” Sanha responded. “Myungjun? I think, um, it sounds weird, but I'm absolutely certain I'm a ghost.” He glanced up and his eyes were wide. “Myungjun? Did I _die?_ I don't feel alive right now. Myungjun, I've been shot, I think. Myungjun-”

His voice must have kept going, but Myungjun's body decided, at that moment, to shut it all out. The sound trailed off and Sanha went blurry in Myungjun's gaze and then, suddenly, Myungjun saw only black as he fell over, off his bed, and hit the floor.

Yoon Sanha had turned into a ghost.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed!!! if not, i hope you find happiness elsewhere!
> 
> hmu for funsies [@vonseal](http://www.vonseal.tumblr.com).


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk how popular this fic will be, buuuuuut i have a lot of plans for it anyway so regardless of whether or not you guys are reading, i will be writing

Ghosts weren't real.

Ghosts were like vampires and werewolves and all other sorts of horrific scary movie monsters that Myungjun had become acquainted with over the years. It was something to scream about when watching tense moments on television. It wasn't something that would _actually_ come to life, that would _actually_ float around Myungjun's bedroom and pout and mope and whine.

“I fucking _swear_ , Sanha, if you don't stop messing around right now, I'll kick your ass,” Myungjun threatened, leaning up against the wall and gritting his teeth down. “This isn't _funny_.”

Sanha, crouched down finally and staring up at Myungjun with wide eyes, shook his head. “If I could, I _would_. Do you really think this is where I want to be? _Dead_ , and in the same room as the ugliest person on the planet?”

Myungjun wondered if he could pass off as being sick. It might ruin his perfect attendance score, but there were some matters that couldn't be dealt with in the course of a few hours, as he readied himself for school. Besides that, fainting had really made him exhausted. He had only been out for a second or two, according to Sanha, who hadn't moved a muscle to help him, but it was enough to make him long for the sweet release of sleep.

Or, maybe, that was the lack of sleep he had gotten in the first place, too scared and frightened from Sanha's violent, brutal end to actually lay down.

“Ghosts don't exist,” Myungjun muttered, mostly to calm himself down, and he ran his fingers through his messy hair. “Sanha, you're _not_ a ghost. You're real.”

“I don't think I am.”

“No, you _are_. And for some god-forsaken reason, you're in _my_ house, in _my_ bedroom.” Myungjun stood on shaky feet and began rifling through his small laundry basket of clothes, trying to find something at least semi-clean to throw on. “I-If you don't get out in five seconds, I'll call the police on you.”

He counted down. He even took his time, stretching each second into an additional seven seconds, but Sanha didn't budge from his position. He just looked _sad_ , sitting there and watching Myungjun's every single move.

“When did I die?” he asked quietly, just as Myungjun had started re-counting. “It must have been recent.”

“You don't remember?”

“So I _am_ dead.”

Myungjun wished he could slap himself, but instead he just bit his lip and refused to respond to Sanha's mockery. The younger boy whined; Myungjun could hear him stand. “ _Please_ , just tell me! I have a bullet-hole in my chest, Myungjun! I'm here, and I honestly don't know how to get away from here – what happened?”

Answering Sanha's inquiries would be admitting that Sanha was, in fact, a ghost. Acknowledging his death would undo all of Myungjun's whispered words of comfort to himself. It would make this entire situation real.

Myungjun hated Sanha, but when he glanced back to look, he realized just how frightened, just how terrified the situation must be. If Sanha was indeed dead, if he was actually a ghost, then that meant he was alone and scared and, from what it appeared, unsure of what even happened.

“I don't know much,” Myungjun admitted quietly. He cleared his throat and pulled a shirt from his small pile; pants came next, and he laid them aside as he continued to answer Sanha. “You were playing games. It was loud, and-and I thought maybe I heard someone talking, and then you...”

Sanha had cried out for help, and Myungjun ignored him. It was likely that, even _if_ he had moved into action, nothing would have changed. If he had run into Sanha's apartment, he, also, might have been killed, and if he had called for the police, it still would have been entirely too late.

He tried telling himself that his actions would have little effect on Sanha's survival. He _tried_ telling himself that he did absolutely nothing wrong, but he couldn't help the guilt that seeped into his heart. He couldn't tell Sanha that he had sat back and let him die, let him stay _dead_ in his bedroom, alone and defenseless, for hours.

“You yelled, and there was a gunshot, and that was it,” Myungjun finished, swallowing thickly. “I, um, I didn't know what had happened. I thought, at first, it was from your game, since you had it up so damn loud, but I don't...I don't think it actually was.”

Sanha's hands were clenched into fists. He glanced down at his bullet wound, the hole in his chest, and shrugged his shoulders. “Looks pretty damn real to me,” he mumbled.

“Yeah. I've realized that now, since you're a fucking ghost.”

“Why did they shoot me?” Sanha asked, ignoring the small insult.

“How can you not remember any of this?” Myungjun was curious, and he set aside the task of readying himself for school, trying to learn more information first. “You don't even remember getting shot?” Sanha shook his head. “What _do_ you remember?”

Sanha blinked. “I...I remember playing games,” he responded. “And...then that's it. The next thing I knew, I was _here_ , in your room, and something didn't feel right, something felt off. I knew I wasn't alive. It was weird, but...I _knew_ , somehow, I was dead.”

“That doesn't make any sense,” Myungjun replied. “How do you _know?_ And how do you just conveniently forget that you were shot?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” Sanha crossed his arms over his chest and stuck out his lower lip. “I told you everything I _do_ remember, everything I _do_ know! I didn't even know ghosts were _real_ until I became one!”

Myungjun sighed loudly. This was just getting complicated. He still didn't want to believe it, either; not only because he hated the idea of ghosts around him, but also because he hated the idea of _Sanha_ around him.

“Myungjun?”

“What?” the older boy groaned.

“What...what about my mom?”

Sanha's voice was small, weak, and Myungjun was reminded, not for the first time, of his extremely young age. Sanha was fifteen, a gangly teen with a voice too squeaky to be taken seriously, with braces and bright, red cheeks and an awkward choice of clothing. Had he been any less of an annoyance, Myungjun could imagine taking him as a baby brother, as someone to look after.

Now, with his sudden, fragile demeanor, Myungjun had the same thought.

“I don't know,” Myungjun admitted, and he stared at the cowering boy with hesitance. What now? He never knew what a baby brother was supposed to be like, never knew how he should care for one. Hug him? Comfort him? Tell him stories?

It seemed too much, and so Myungjun did the next best thing – he grabbed his clothes and murmured, “I have to change. I've got school.”

“Myungjun-”

“Which is very important to me, because I'm almost done, and I can move and go to university somewhere else and never come back here.”

“Wait-”

“So just...just stay here. For the rest of the day, alright? And...yeah, stay here.”

Sanha looked desperate for attention that Myungjun was unwilling to give him.

But Myungjun couldn't deal with the potential of having a ghost in his bedroom. It wasn't something he had prepared himself for, and it wasn't something he wanted in his life. He left, then, moving to the bathroom instead, quickly changing and trying (and failing) to fix his messy hair. He had dark bags under his eyes and his clothes were wrinkled from being stuffed away in a basket, but at least he didn't think he smelled _too_ bad. At least he looked somewhat like his usual self.

Though, really, that wasn't much to brag about.

He didn't bother checking to ensure the ghost was still in his room. He would deal with it later, when he wasn't still scared and stressed. He hurried from the bathroom, ignoring the closed door to his own room, and took a deep breath before stepping into the living room, where his mom lay, sprawled out on the sofa.

Myungjun regarded her with a wrinkled nose, smelling the alcohol and smoke wafting from her general direction, before he prodded her with his hand.

“Mom.”

She moaned out a response and rolled over, her face now squished against one of the couch pillows.

“Mom,” Myungjun repeated, a little louder this time. “Mom, I'm going to school, and afterwards, I'll probably hang out with a friend for a little bit.”

Bin was his only friend, but his mother was unaware of their true relationship. He preferred to keep it that way. The less his mother knew of his life, the better it would be, honestly. He didn't _want_ her knowing he had a boyfriend. He didn't even know how she would react to that sort of news. She never made her feelings on the matter known – not exactly, anyway. But he decided that since he would only be here for a while longer as he finished his final year of high school, he needn't tell her a thing about his personal life.

“That kid you hate next door,” his mother suddenly slurred out, gesturing to the wall with a lazy wave, “he's dead.”

Myungjun's breath caught in his throat.

“He got shot.”

“Do they know why?”

She snorted. Her eyes still weren't open. “Like I would know. I don't keep up with _their_ lives, Myungjun.” She reached blindly for the blanket by her side. It was strewn across the dirty floor, and Myungjun only watched as she struggled to get it. “I wish you were older,” she grumbled. “I need more alcohol. If you were older, you could buy it.”

Myungjun rolled his eyes and opened the front door, peeking out at Sanha's house, at the _no entry_ yellow tape surrounding the door, and answered, “Why don't you go get it yourself?”

“I can't,” she responded. “I'm hungover.”

“Then maybe you should stop drinking.”

“Did you just talk back to me? Myungjun-”

He left before she could continue her tirade. He didn't suppose she would be up anytime soon, and he really didn't believe she would ever check his bedroom if she _did_ get up. Besides that, would Sanha be visible to anyone else? Was he a ghost that everyone could see?

If he was, what was the point of being a ghost in the first place?

Sanha didn't appear to him again on his walk to school. He took corners slowly, jumping at shadows and trashcans. He gripped onto his backpack straps with caution, eyes darting around in order to ensure no ghosts jumped out at him.

His sudden vigilance, the fear he had of another ghost popping out at him, probably put him more on edge than usual, and it's probably what made him scream in alarm the moment his arm was grabbed and he was pulled into some bushes right near their school.

He struggled for a few seconds before a familiar voice murmured, “Myungjun, it's me.”

Myungjun blinked, fixing the glasses upon his face, and then sighed when he realized that Bin was the one who had grabbed onto him. “Fuck, _Bin_ , why the hell are you hiding in bushes? It's creepy.”

Bin laughed at him, bright and cheerful, and then quickly leaned forward to plant an apology kiss onto Myungjun's cheek. “You know we don't get too many chances to hang out like this.”

“ _Like this_ ,” Myungjun repeated as Bin's lips peppered smaller kisses along his jaw. “You mean, behind some bushes, making out?”

“We're not making out yet,” Bin responded, and then he managed to capture Myungjun's lips within his own.

It was chaste at first, soft and gentle, but Myungjun pulled back and whispered, “Binnie, I have something to tell you. Something weird happened-”

Bin gave him another kiss – when they pulled back again, Myungjun was breathless. Bin's arms wrapped around his body, snaking up his back, and he gave a mischievous smile as he ran a finger up and down Myungjun's spine. “How weird was it?” Bin asked.

Myungjun felt like his head was spinning. It wasn't often that he had gotten the chance to _kiss_ Bin, not like this. Short kisses, quick kisses, maybe before or after school, when hardly anyone would notice, was the norm. Myungjun's mother was none the wiser of their relationship; Bin's parents already made up their mind that they didn't approve. The school had caught on, and while Bin remained the untouchable star player of their soccer team, the one who scored the goals and got them into playoffs, Myungjun was able to take the full brunt of the attacks and the bullying. He didn't like to show affection openly, too frightened that one day the bullying would shift to Bin, instead. Bin was younger, and while he was stronger and more popular, it only took a few bad apples for the entire school to hate _Bin_ , as well.

So maybe that was the reason Myungjun decided to forgo his story of the Sanha Ghost. Maybe that was the reason Myungjun decided to savor the moment while it lasted and connect his lips back to Bin's. The kisses this time were more heated than before; open-mouthed, tongue action, everything Myungjun _really_ liked to indulge himself in on those rare date nights they did plan. Fingers gripped at clothes and Myungjun's body shivered with delight.

When Bin grabbed his ass, Myungjun opened his eyes wide, a giggle falling forth from his mouth, quickly taken by Bin's lips.

And then he noticed someone watching.

Sanha.

Wide eyes peered at him, standing just a few feet behind Bin, blinking owlishly at the two of them. He spoke, too, when he realized Myungjun had seen him. “You're gay? That explains a lot.”

Myungjun pulled away from his boyfriend with a screech, hitting Bin's shoulder and gesturing wildly over to the ghost. “B-B- _Bin!_ ” he exclaimed. “Bin, it's happened again! Bin, _holy shit_ , he's _here!_ ”

Bin, to his credit, only looked slightly displeased with being interrupted by an overly panicking Myungjun. He glanced behind him and sighed. “What's here?”

“Right _there_ , Bin!” Myungjun pointed, jabbing a finger in Sanha's direction. The ghost just smirked at him, hands crossed over his chest in a haughty posture. “He-He's standing...he's _there_. You can't see him?”

Bin scoffed and turned back to face Myungjun. His eyebrows were furrowed, and he bent down slightly in order to better examine Myungjun's eyes. “Do these glasses work, Junnie?”

“Bin!”

“You're acting as if there's a ghost or something right behind me.”

“That's _exactly_ what's behind you!” Myungjun was enthusiastic; regardless of whether or not Bin believed him, at least it seemed like he was on the path to explaining to someone what was going on.

However, just as hope had entered the conversation, just as he believed he wouldn't be alone in his ghostly adventure, Bin simply gave a small _tut_ , and he fixed Myungjun's messy hair. “You need to sleep better,” he commented in a murmur. “I can see the bags under your eyes. It's not healthy, Myungjun. I know you want to get out of your house and away from your Mom, but _please_ don't spend all night studying. Or-” His eyes glinted. “Is that little asshole keeping you awake again?”

Sanha seemed to recognize that the conversation now turned to him, and he perked up. “Did he just call me an asshole?” the boy asked.

Bin continued, furthering Myungjun's theory that the ghost only appeared to _him_ , and not to anyone else. Not his mom, not to Bin, not to _anyone_ but _Myungjun_.

(That was depressing. If he had to be stuck with Sanha, he would at least like someone else to share the burden.)

“Because, I swear, I _will_ come in to murder him if he does that.”

Myungjun tensed, and he grabbed Bin's arm, shaking his head. He noticed Sanha in the background, glowering and clenching his fists. “Bin. Bin, no, just...look, I've got something _really_ important to tell you, but it's also really fucking weird, and chances are that you won't even believe me.”

Bin blinked; he looked innocent and sweet, and Myungjun could fall in love all over again with every second that passed in Bin's presence. “Why wouldn't I believe you? I _always_ believe you, you know that. You never lie to me.”

“Right! I never lie. Ever. But right now, it's...it's really bizarre, even for _me_ , Binnie. I'm-” He swallowed nervously, glancing at Sanha once before muttering, “Can we meet somewhere after school?”

“What?”

“It's such a long story, and classes start soon.” He stood on his toes in order to give Bin another kiss, a quick smooch – then realized Sanha was still angrily watching the two of them. “Bin, let's meet up somewhere secluded after school. Maybe around, um, this evening. Seven? I need time to go to the library and grab stuff for a paper I'm writing. But if we meet at that park, the area where the hill is hidden by trees-”

“I know where it is,” Bin assured him, rubbing at his hair. They had met up there multiple times; typically, that was there one and only date location, away from all other people, in perfect secrecy so they could talk and kiss and love each other without any judgmental gazes.

“Meet me there at seven,” Myungjun whispered. He pinched Bin's side, relishing in the small giggle he was given, then pushed him lightly. “You go in first. I'll be right behind you in a bit, okay?”

Bin smiled and, with great reluctance, removed his fingers from combing through Myungjun's hair. “Right,” he responded, eyes sparkling with mirth, with _love_ as he gazed upon Myungjun one last time. “Good luck in school!”

He hurried off, knowing full well it would be better for them to appear separately; whenever they were together, Myungjun had to deal with the shitstorm that their fellow classmates like to rain down upon him.

Though, really, Myungjun could handle that more than he could handle Sanha.

“Alright,” he fussed, turning to the ghost and pointing at his watch.

“Hi, Myungjun.”

“Don't you fucking _dare_. I've got ten minutes until classes start, so tell me, within that time span, why you're here.”

(Sanha seemed to accept the order as a challenge – he spent nine long minutes explaining himself. If he wasn't already dead, Myungjun would definitely kill him again.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who killed sanha??? why is he haunting myungjun??? what is going on in this stupid fic???
> 
> find out next time [@vonseal](http://www.vonseal.tumblr.com)!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **heyo warning** there's some bullying here in this chap

As it turned out, Sanha could disappear and reappear at will.

He said he had no idea he even _had_ that sort of power. He said it was something he had always seen in ghost films and had thought it would be cool to try.

“How does it even work?” Myungjun asked, glancing down at his phone for the time; he was interested, certainly, in Sanha's ghostly powers (especially considering that _he_ was the one being haunted), but, at the same time, he would much rather get to class and keep his perfect attendance score before he was too late. He wouldn't be a bad student because of _Sanha_.

Sanha shrugged uselessly. “I just...I thought it. I closed my eyes and I thought, _take me to that loser, Myungjun,_ and-”

“I'm leaving.”

“Well, I'll just follow you.” Sanha grinned deviously, crossing his arms over his chest. “It's not like you can push me away, either.”

Myungjun stared at the boy for a few seconds before pursing his lips. “ _Can_ I touch you?” he inquired. “It usually differs through all of the ghost movies, doesn't it? In some of them, they can touch, and in others, they _can't_.” He reached a hand out, tentatively, and he saw Sanha stiffen. “Are you scared?” Myungjun snorted and wiggled his fingers. “Come on, let me touch you.”

Sanha swallowed thickly and glanced down at the ground for a second, seeming to compose himself. “What happens, though, if you try to touch me and, and it doesn't work? What happens if your hand just goes right through me?”

“Well, than, it's like half of the ghost movies in the world.”

“And it would make me a _ghost!_ ”

Myungjun blinked. “You _are_ a ghost,” he stated. “I mean, you were _killed_. You...” He had to trail off, however, noticing that Sanha seemed incredibly nervous all of a sudden. It was unlike what he was used to seeing from the kid; usually, Sanha was the epitome of annoying and snarky and rude. For him to suddenly shy away from something Myungjun said, to not come up with some sort of sarcastic response, was a little strange. It wasn't _Sanha_.

But it made sense. Myungjun didn't have to take too long to consider that maybe Sanha just hated being reminded of his new ghostly status. After all, it had only been a few hours since his murder; it had only been a few hours since he turned into a ghost. He was a young boy, something Myungjun kept forgetting, and he was bound to become scared and upset whenever he had to face himself now.

Myungjun sighed, and he leaned forward. Sanha flinched, but both of them froze when Myungjun touched onto Sanha's skin. It was cold, a little clammy, but not at all any different from what a regular person should feel like.

“Wow,” Myungjun breathed, and he ran a hand up along Sanha's arm. “Can I feel your clothes, too? Oh, yeah, those are solid. This is fucking _weird_ , Sanha. I thought ghosts were supposed to be invisible.”

“I...I did, too.” Sanha's eyes were wide and he also reached his own hand out to grab onto Myungjun's arm. “I thought I wouldn't touch _anything_.”

“Could you touch stuff in my room?”

“Sort of. I mean, I tried. I focused really hard and I could _feel_ some of it, but it wasn't the same thing. Why can I feel you so well, though?”

Myung scoffed and removed his hand. He was starting to forget that he _hated_ Sanha. Part of him wanted to think that their rivalry could have just come from simple misunderstandings, but then he thought back to all the sleepless nights and the lost time doing homework and the general _annoyance_ that was Yoon Sanha.

And, somehow, he still couldn't find it in him to hate some kid who had been shot and was now confused as to why he was a ghost.

Sanha was currently too pitiful and pathetic for Myungjun to bother hating.

“I don't know anything about ghosts,” Myungjun responded. “It might just be a _me_ thing though. Like, you're stuck haunting _me_ , so maybe you're also stuck only getting contact with me.”

“That's an awful life to live,” Sanha complained.

Myungjun decided not to make a crude joke ( _that's why you're dead, Sanha_ , he thought, but he refrained from speaking it) and just sighed, adjusting the glasses on his face. “I'll meet up with Binnie – um, Bin. Tonight, I mean. Bin and I are meeting tonight. I'll tell him about you and maybe-”

“What can _he_ do? Other than kiss you, apparently.”

Myungjun glowered at the ghost. “ _Bin_ can do a lot of things,” he snapped. “He can play soccer – he's captain of the team, and they always win – and he can dance really well and he sings to me sometimes and he's trying to learn how to draw, even though he sucks at it. He's super smart, only behind Dongmin in his class, and he-”

“But what can he _do_?” Sanha questioned Bin's abilities again, but this time offered some form of explanation. “What is he going to do about a ghost? He didn't seem to see me before, when he was sticking his tongue down your mouth.”

“What the fu-”

“I don't think he's going to believe you.”

“First off, where the hell did you even learn to say shit like that? You're gross.” Myungjun grimaced, and he checked his phone for the time, cursing loudly when he realized he only had a few minutes to run to his class. “Secondly, he _will_ believe me. I've never lied to him before, and he has no reason to doubt me. Just, like, lift something – you can probably touch my clothes, so-”

“Is this permission to give you a wedgie?”

Myungjun wondered if there was a way to repel ghosts. He would have to ask Bin if he encountered ghost repellent in any of his studying. “I'm going to class,” Myungjun murmured. “And you'd better not hang around me all day, okay? Just...just _shoo_. Go back to my room, or-or go try and find the mystery of why you died. Figure out how to pass on so you won't bug _me_ anymore, okay?”

But, as luck would have it, Sanha was far more interested with seeing how Myungjun's school worked. “I went to school further away,” he said, following Myungjun into the building. “A cool, prestigious school. I got in because I'm intelligent.”

“And because your mom spent all her money on it.”

“Well, sure, but only smart kids get in, Myungjun. I'm sure if your mom spent all _her_ money on _you_ , you'd also get in.”

Myungjun's topic of choice really wasn't his home life, and so he tried to simply ignore Sanha as he began to stuff his books and coat away in his locker. Besides, people were around him, and should he answer Sanha anymore than necessary, he was bound to get a few weird looks.

“It's not much different _here_ , though, than it is at my school,” Sanha continued, obviously ignoring Myungjun's lack of responses. “I mean, a little dirtier and more crowded – also, your uniforms are boring. _My_ uniform is bright red. Gray looks bad on you, Myungjun.”

“Jesus christ,” Myungjun whispered, closing his locker loudly. He turned away, but just as he did so, he was shoved harshly, and he dropped several of the books he _had_ grabbed.

Sanha stopped talking, watching as a few loose papers flew from the books, tilting his head in confusion as the boys who had pushed Myungjun walked away laughing and patting each others' backs.

None of the students nearby made a move to stop the treatment. They continued as if it was just daily routine. And, Myungjun solemnly thought as he picked his things back up again, it _was_ daily routine. He had come to expect it, as did everyone else, and so Sanha's shocked expression was actually the first time anyone had really shown concern to the event.

“What was _that_ about?” Sanha asked.

“Nothing,” Myungjun mumbled under his breath, and he began to hurry to his class. He could hear Sanha walking right behind him; he assumed no one else could. The boy was darting around the few students that still lingered, as if he was afraid to touch them and pass through them. Myungjun couldn't very well blame him for that fear.

(Myungjun _could_ blame him for being annoying and obnoxious.)

“It wasn't _nothing_. They made you drop everything! They did it on purpose, didn't they?”

“And why does it make you so upset?” Myungjun whispered, stopping right by his classroom. He ducked his head, silent, as another student entered, but once the coast seemed clear, he continued, “You hate me, don't you? So why are you worried about some kids just bumping into me? It was literally _nothing_.”

Sanha, once more, reminded Myungjun of a _child_ , of the kid he truly was. His eyes shone with concern and helplessness. “I...I don't know! I just don't think I like for people to be bullied.”

Myungjun didn't feel as aggravated as he thought he would with Sanha. He was definitely still annoying, and Myungjun really wished he would disappear, but, at the same time, it felt oddly pleasant to have someone showing some sort of interest in how he was treated at school.

(Someone other than Bin – though Bin, for the most part, remained unaware about all of the name-calling and hitting and downright _bullying_. No one dared bug Bin about his sexual orientation, not when he brought home trophies for the school, and Myungjun didn't dare tell him in fear of Bin getting far too involved with lowlifes.)

“It's not _bullying_ ,” Myungjun lied. “It's playing around.”

“But-”

“Just be quiet, okay? I have to-” Myungjun cleared his throat, leaning up against the wall as someone walked by, then he continued his sentence once the student was out of earshot. “I have to go to class. _Please_ don't be a nuisance as usual.”

He couldn't really pay attention in class, however. He was exhausted, but even so, he had been so frightened and scared of the night's happenings that the adrenaline was still kicking in his blood. He had heard his neighbor get shot. He had actually heard someone walk into the apartment, the door _right_ beside his own, and shoot some poor, innocent kid.

( _Innocent_ was a strong word, Myungjun had to admit as he pretended not to see Sanha jumping around on one leg in an attempt to garner his attention, but surely Sanha was innocent enough to not warrant any sort of death sentence.)

It was very odd that Sanha appeared to _him_ as a ghost. Myungjun wondered why _him_. Why not his own mother? From what Myungjun could gather, Sanha's mother always seemed sweet and loving, if not a little absent from the picture much of the time. She worked multiple jobs to keep the family afloat, leaving Sanha up to his own devices. Myungjun wondered if Sanha pissed off the wrong person, perhaps in one of his stupid multiplayer games. Or, maybe, Sanha's mother was involved in shady business and the men who broke into Sanha's apartment decided to take their frustrations out on _him_. Maybe it was a punishment of some sorts, enacted out on Sanha in order to make Sanha's mom feel the pain, as well.

Myungjun couldn't sit still, thinking through all of these scenarios. He had no one to discuss it with, either, save for Sanha, and people would find him even weirder than they already did if he suddenly began to talk to a ghost.

So, during his break, he gestured for Sanha to follow him, discreetly pointing down the hallway.

“As if I have a choice,” Sanha complained, trudging after Myungjun, disregarding how hurried the older boy truly was. “It's either being stuck with _you_ , or being around all those loud classmates of yours. I don't know who's more annoying – one Myungjun, or a hundred high school students.”

Myungjun couldn't help but smirk, for some reason finding Sanha's words funny and _normal_ , and he pulled Sanha into the restroom. It was at least quiet in there; he checked all of the stalls and turned on all of the water faucets, hiding his voice from any prying ears outside. “You're a little bitch sometimes, Sanha,” was what Myungjun first said, and then he leaned up against the wall and sighed loudly. “You still don't remember how you died, do you? Because that might be a key thing at this point – don't ghosts need to resolve things before they move on?”

“How should I know?” Sanha asked.

“Because you're a ghost. Ghosts usually know these things. I mean, in the movies, they do.”

Sanha pouted. “In case you weren't aware, this isn't a _movie_. I wish it was, because then I wouldn't be a ghost anymore. Myungjun, _why_ am I a ghost?”

“That's what I'm trying to figure out. I don't really remember the reasons that the movies gave, I just-”

He stopped talking, clamping his mouth shut as the bathroom door opened. Two boys entered, laughing to each other, most likely cutting class; Myungjun recognized them as two of the many tormentors that existed solely to make his life miserable. He swallowed thickly and pushed himself up off the wall in order to leave, but they noticed him.

“Oh, Myungjun!” one of them exclaimed, and he pushed Myungjun back into the wall. Sanha moved forward, but there was little there to do. “What are _you_ doing, hanging out by yourself in the bathroom?”

The other boy snorted and rolled his eyes. “He's searching for dick, obviously.”

“Oh. _Obviously_ ,” Myungjun responded.

“I think he's interested in _our_ dicks, Daejung. Look at him waiting for us!”

“If I was here for your dicks, I'd bring a microscope,” Myungjun spat. He expected retaliation for his words, but he wasn't prepared for it to come so quickly. A slap across his face sent his glasses tumbling to the ground. Myungjun prayed they hadn't cracked, knowing his mother would never buy him another pair. He grit his teeth down and felt his stinging cheek, fingers shaking slightly.

Still, he didn't want to bow his head and take it. He _knew_ he wasn't going to fight them, but he might at least not show fear or cowardice. “Beating a kid up in a public restroom is about the gayest thing you can do,” he pointed out, glancing up at his tormentors. They looked confused, and so Myungjun decided to explain it to them. “All that skin contact. All the _pleasure_ you guys get from that as well. And you think _I'm_ the gay one?”

Perhaps, in hindsight, an explanation wasn't needed. Perhaps, in hindsight, he should have accepted whatever additional slaps or punches might have come his way. He could have easily written off bruises or red cheeks as his own clumsiness. He didn't know how exactly, though, to handle being dragged into one of the bathroom stalls. He tried to plan his feet firmly on the ground, tried yelling at them, but one boy covered his mouth, and the other commented, “I've _never_ found anyone who's head _deserved_ to be stuffed in a toilet until I met your sorry, pathetic ass, Myungjun.”

Sanha grabbed onto Myungjun's arm suddenly, pulling at him in a desperate attempt to get him away, but it was all in vain. The boys pushed Myungjun down, breaking the contact he had with Sanha, and with no warning at all, Myungjun's head was shoved down inside the toilet bowl. He barely had enough time to close his eyes and hold his breath, and, in a panic, he thrashed his arms and struggled against their force.

After what felt like an eternity, one of them pulled him back up. Myungjun took a deep breath, coughing and sputtering and trying to scramble back from the toilet. “Stop!” he begged. He promised himself he would never _beg_ bullies. He promised himself, too, he would never make a deal with them, but he threw up his previous sentiments, asking, “C-Could you just fucking _hit me_? What the fuck is your _problem?_ I can tell on you-”

“What evidence will you have?” one boy laughed.

The other one nudged his friend. “Let's do it again,” he said, “except we can flush the toilet with his head in it this time.”

“Won't that hurt him?”

“I doubt it. I've heard of people doing it before. Let's see what happens.”

Myungjun tried to run, but he was easily halted in his tracks. Water dripped from his hair and all down his face, making large stains against his shirt. He felt like crying, honestly, and a lone sob escaped from his mouth as he was, once again, forced to his knees. There was a hand on his head, pushing down, but before he could face the toilet again, the stall door behind them closed with a loud noise.

The two boys jumped up, expecting to see someone; only Sanha stood there, Myungjun noticed, and he remembered that Sanha was invisible to them.

“What the hell was that? Is there someone in here?” one of them whispered, and he poked his head out of the stall.

Sanha wasted no time; while the boy was peeking out, he shut the door as harshly as he could. It smashed into the boy's face with a sickening crunch, causing him to stumble backwards and to yell out in alarm.

“Fuck!” his friend screeched. “Your nose is bleeding! Oh my _god_ , what the-”

“Come on! This place is fucking weird because of that little bitch, anyway, let's just...” He trailed off, one hand holding onto his bloody nose and the other pulling his friend away. Myungjun heard them leave, the bathroom door closing behind them.

He also heard the bell ring, but he couldn't bring himself to stand and face more classes just then. He leaned up against the metal stall and wiped at his face, grimacing at how he smelled.

Sanha sat down beside him, a worried look shining in his eyes as he glanced over at Myungjun. “Are...are you okay?” he asked, voice soft and unsure.

Myungjun nodded his head; he didn't trust his own voice.

“I didn't know I could grab the door, but...I kept yelling. They didn't hear me.” Sanha pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. “So I thought of the best way to get them to stop, and banging the door shut seemed like a good option. And then I could touch it.” He giggled, adding, “Slamming it in his face just happened. It was a great opportunity, and I took it.”

“Yeah,” Myungjun croaked out. He felt his chin quivering, and he turned away, letting himself shut his eyes and release a few tears. His body shook and he couldn't stop a second sob from being released.

Sanha leaned into him, seeming not to mind the wet or the smell, and he sighed deeply.

Suddenly, Sanha was no longer cold. Suddenly, Sanha was warm.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for sticking with this! it's not that good buT IM HOLDING OUT HOPE IT'LL GET MORE INTERESTING
> 
> if you wanna talk, hmu [@vonseal](http://www.vonseal.tumblr.com)! im awful at answering comments here, so if it's something drastic, u can catch me over there!
> 
> (i still read comments and love comments tho so pls leave them, feed my vain ego)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no warnings really for this chapter, save for the stuff mentioned in the tags! it's been a while since i wrote on this, so i hope you enjoy this update finally!

Sanha didn't speak for the rest of the day.

He didn't make any stupid jokes. He didn't prod and bug Myungjun. He didn't make a single peep, and it had gotten to the point that Myungjun forgot he was even there.

As it neared the end of the day, though, Sanha made his presence known. He held open Myungjun's bookbag to allow the older boy to stuff his binders inside, and then he muttered out a small, “Are you okay?”

Myungjun glanced up at him. Everyone else in class was far too busy to notice that he would be talking to a ghost, and so he figured he wouldn't get caught for nodding his head to Sanha's question.

“Are you lying to me?” Sanha asked.

Myungjun shook his head this time, and he heard Sanha sigh in exasperation.

It was obvious Myungjun was lying. He _wasn't_ okay, not after what had happened in the bathroom earlier that day. While he had managed to pull himself together, washing his face in the school sinks and trying his best to dry his hair with paper towels, the experience still left him shaky and upset. He could deal with the teasing and the bruises, but _that_ was humiliation on another level. That had degraded him as a person, had made him beg to people he hated, had left him a crying, sobbing mess in the middle of the bathroom. In his next class, students had snickered at his state of being, at his red-rimmed, puffy eyes and his damp shirt and wet hair.

Myungjun wanted to leave. He didn't want to go home, and he didn't want to stay at school. He had nowhere, really, where he felt welcomed – Bin's parents weren't fond of him, his own mother was neglectful, at best, and school, despite the importance in his life, was a place of torment and anxiety. There was _nowhere_ he belonged, and the thought filled him with such dread as he walked down the hallway to the school library.

Sanha trailed after him, and Myungjun was thankful no one else could see the ghost, because Sanha's face was filled with immense grave concern and worry. Myungjun didn't want others to know that he had stooped so low as to take away a young boy's cheerful innocence and replace it with such a mature, pointed gaze instead.

“You don't have to follow me, Sanha,” he mumbled as he neared the library. “I'll just be here studying for a few hours.”

Sanha blinked, taken aback by Myungjun's sudden words, and he quickly shook his head. “No, no, I don't mind coming.”

“Really, it's boring-”

“Where else do you think I should go, then?”

While Myungjun was certain Sanha didn't _have_ to stick around him, he supposed it would be even more of a bore to stay at Myungjun's place.

Not only that, but Myungjun was certain that his mother was home, and having Sanha around his deadbeat mother, seeing exactly what life was like over on the other side of the apartment, wouldn't be fun at all.

(Myungjun wondered if there was a way to kick Sanha out of his apartment building for the evening – maybe he could haunt Bin, instead.)

Regardless, Myungjun had no answer for him. He simply sighed in exasperation and then pushed open the doors to the library, letting Sanha enter first. He instructed the boy to sit down as he grabbed the books he needed.

He was obsessed with studying. Bin mentioned it to him all the time, reminded him that he was definitely allowed to take breaks, to have little vacations here and there, to allow himself a chance to live life, to enjoy his teen years, instead of spending countless hours buried in books.

But Myungjun didn't like to tell Bin everything that was happening. He never mentioned the teasing; nor did he mention his lifestyle at his apartment, how his mother spent all the money that came in from child support on her alcohol, or her cigarettes, or other things that Myungjun didn't think they needed. He didn't mention that his older brother had abandoned him completely to the whims of their mother, citing a better life for _himself_ and leaving Myungjun behind. He lied to Bin about the smell of cigarette smoke, claiming that someone else in his apartment building smoked an ungodly amount and it seeped into his clothes constantly. He said the reason Bin could never come over was just because there was no space (which was true) and the apartment needed some cleaning (which was also true) and it was too far away from school, anyway (which was incredibly false).

But Bin, with his cute laugh and optimistic attitude toward life, didn't deserve to have anything bringing him down. He needn't worry about things that didn't directly affect him. Myungjun would suffer, if only so he could provide a better life for Bin further down the road. He would graduate school and attend the top university of his choice. He would get a job while continuing classes, and once Bin was able to also graduate, they could live together, and Myungjun would have clothes that fit him, and he would smell nice, and he would never again be tormented.

Studying would help. If Myungjun focused all his effort on making sure his grades were high, and if he prepared himself enough for college entrance exams, then he wouldn't have to worry any longer about how he could care for Bin. He also would no longer feel the need to hide himself away from Bin, to keep the truth secret, because then things would work out just fine.

Myungjun sighed loudly and grabbed a few books he needed before heading back to where he had left Sanha.

Sanha was seated, his arms crossed over his chest and an eyebrow raised as he stared at the boy who sat across from him.

Myungjun blinked and followed his gaze. He recognized the boy, one of Bin's soccer buddies, one of the few who still nodded or smiled at Myungjun if they ran into each other in the hallway. He was younger than Bin by a year, but he had already proven himself a force to be reckoned with. Bin usually spoke of his skill and his passion, and Myungjun, despite _wanting_ to hate all of the members on the soccer team for their two-faced behavior, could never find it in him to hate this kid.

Myungjun deposited his books on the table and adjusted his glasses. “Hey, um-” he stalled as the kid looked up at him, trying to remember a name.

“Minhyuk,” the boy supplied, and Myungjun felt embarrassed.

“Right, Minhyuk. You're on the soccer team?” Minhyuk nodded, and Myungjun continued. “Friends with Binnie?”

“ _Binnie?_ ” Minhyuk questioned.

Myungjun could have kicked himself, and he scowled as he sat down at the table, definitely trying to ignore Sanha's elbow nudging harshly into his side. “Bin,” Myungjun corrected his previous slip-up, not quite appreciating the small smirk that was falling across Minhyuk's expression.

He waited for the inevitable teasing, but Minhyuk just returned back to his works, leaving Myungjun a little confused.

In his moment of dazed bewilderment (someone leaving him _alone_ in concerns with his sexuality was a blessing, and a rare opportunity), Sanha quickly whispered, “He looked at me.”

Myungjun tried not to look at Sanha, unwilling to draw attention to his ghostly friend. He did scrunch his nose up, in an attempt to convey that he _had_ heard the boy. Sanha continued, “He had come in and he was about to sit down next to me, but I put a hand over that chair because I forgot I was dead, _and he moved_.”

That didn't sound right; supposedly, Sanha was invisible to everyone else. No one was supposed to see him, on account that he was _dead_ , and so Myungjun stared over at Minhyuk in confusion.

The younger boy glanced up, as if feeling someone's eyes on him, and smiled politely at Myungjun. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

Sanha went back to glaring, but Myungjun decided on a nicer approach. “Um, no, not particularly. It's just, uh...I mean, I've never spoken to you, I don't think.”

“Right,” Minhyuk replied, nodding. “Well, you're in your last year, and I'm a first year, so I didn't think we had any reason to talk.”

“We both know Bin.”

Myungjun could have _shot_ himself, and he cursed himself silently. Sanha, next to him, just groaned, recognizing Myungjun's own self-destruction. He definitely was not supposed to advertise his sexuality in such a manner. He tried to stay secret and hidden; more importantly, he tried to ensure _Bin_ stayed secret and hidden. If Minhyuk wasn't already aware of their relationship, he was probably catching onto it now.

“We do,” came Minhyuk's reply, and he buried his head into his books once more, trying to finish off the conversation. Myungjun, though, was far more interested in learning why Minhyuk seemingly understood there was a ghost seated at the table – if Sanha was to be believed, anyway.

“So,” Myungjun started again, clearing his throat. “It's awkward at this table, isn't it? I mean, with just the two of us here. Maybe we need a, um, a third person.”

Minhyuk glanced up. He stared at Myungjun for a second before gazing around the room. His eyes didn't land on anything in particular, save for another student working close by, just a few feet away from them. “I like it quiet, though,” Minhyuk said, “so the two of us is just fine.”

And then he returned to his works, unaware of any sort of ghostly creature nearby.

Myungjun pursed his lips, determined to fuss at Sanha when they were alone again. After all, Sanha made him look _stupid_. Sanha made him like such a fool in front of the one student who held any sort of respect for him. If he had just kept his mouth shut in the first place, if he hadn't babbled on about a _third person_ , perhaps Minhyuk would still think neutrally of him, rather than shutting him out and ignoring him for the rest of their time spent together.

“That was so _embarrassing_ ,” Myungjun fussed as he hurried down the hallway with Sanha a few hours later, books still in his hand and bag heavy across his back. “First I got my head stuffed in a fucking toilet, and now Park Minhyuk probably thinks I'm a moron.”

“Why would he think that?” Sanha asked, peering back over his shoulder from time to time. “You didn't say anything weird.”

“I outed myself to _Park Minhyuk_.”

“Is he special, or something?” Sanha snorted, looking straight again and shrugging his shoulders. “And I thought you were already outed as gay. I mean, everyone else in the school seems to know, if how they treated you was any sign of that.”

Myungjun sighed; he had to remind himself that Sanha was young and didn't really understand how these sorts of things worked. “I don't want people on the soccer team to know,” he muttered. “I know they do. I _know_ they know I'm dating him, but the less mentions of it, the less of a chance there'll be that Binnie will get badgered by them.”

Sanha was trying to match his quick pace as they finally left the school building, walking out into the cold, dark scene before them. Myungjun shivered, but he noted with great interest that Sanha seemed unaffected by the cold, still wearing the t-shirt and jeans he must have died in.

“So _you_ get bullied, but your boyfriend doesn't?”

Myungjun didn't like the tone Sanha used. He sounded sarcastic, rude, as if he was making a point where there _was_ no point to be made. “Yeah.”

“That's not very fair.”

“What, should _both_ of us be bullied?” Myungjun crossed the street, Sanha close by his side, and veered off around a corner, taking the path he knew would lead him to the small, cozy park where he could indulge himself in his boyfriend as much as possible before having to return home.

Sanha laughed, though nothing seemed very funny at all to Myungjun. While he had felt a slight, reluctant tolerance growing from Sanha's quiet, whenever the boy made extra noise, Myungjun reverted back to hating him. “No, but I just – have you even _told_ him what's going on?”

Myungjun hadn't, and his demeanor spoke the truth. He was quiet, eyes averted, as he hurried along the pathway.

“Jesus, Myungjun, you get your head stuffed in a toilet, and he doesn't even _know?_ ” Sanha gave a low whistle. “Either he's an idiot, or you're _really_ good at keeping secrets from him.”

“It's the latter,” Myungjun snapped. “What's it to you, anyway? He has more important things to worry about than what happens to me. I can take it. I'm not a necessity to the school like he is, and I'll be out of here in a couple of months, anyway. _He_ has to survive two more years, and I'd rather him not make enemies for these last two years. If he knows, he'll go after people, and if he goes after people, he could be kicked from the soccer team, or suspended from school.” Finally, Myungjun glanced over at Sanha, frustrated with a boy younger than him trying to give such stupid advice. “I _know_ what I'm doing, Sanha. I've thought this all through, and, unlike you, I'm not an idiot.”

Sanha, it seemed, had nothing more to say to that. He just scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest as they walked, stomping his feet ever so slightly in the ground as if that would inform Myungjun of his new-found ill behavior.

Myungjun didn't care. Sanha had always been difficult, and he would rather not even help the boy out, really, not when his mood was so low. But he was reminded of Sanha's death, and of Sanha's fear the morning after, and of the fact that Sanha was _stuck_ with him, and he realized he had to help out Sanha, for both their sakes.

“It's up here,” Myungjun mumbled as he stepped into the park, ensuring Sanha followed along with the sharp turn. He pointed up a hill. “So we'll go meet Bin, talk to him, see if he knows anyone who could help or anything we could do-”

“I have a feeling you're just telling him because you don't want to be alone in this, _not_ because he can actually help.”

Sanha's words hit the mark, but Myungjun chose not to admit as such. He rolled his eyes and gestured for Sanha to continue trailing after him.

He knew there was nothing Bin could do. Bin wasn't involved in ghostly nonsense, and Bin didn't believe in the supernatural. However, Myungjun didn't know how much longer he could handle living alone with this knowledge. Even one school day was hard enough on him, and he felt if he told someone, if he shared his burden, then a load would be lifted up from his shoulders.

(He thought it was ironic that he could tell the truth when it came to ghosts, but not when it came to how dreadful his life really was. He didn't know why he was a coward.)

The area they met was secluded from all others, partially hidden from view by a bunch of trees and some larger bushes. It was a little rocky of a path, a little run-down, but it was _perfect_ because of that. No one came to a lovely park to look at a rather forgotten piece of land, and so when Bin came across it one day, he had excitedly brought Myungjun. It became their place to unwind and relax, their place to hug and kiss, their place to stare up at the sky and make plans for their future together.

Bin was already there, and Myungjun grinned in relief when he spotted his boyfriend. “Hey, Binnie!” he greeted.

Bin noticed him, glancing up from where he was pouring _something_ into a glass, and returned Myungjun's smile. “Junnie! Look, I stole some wine for us, and a blanket from my mom's linen closet, and I'll wash it and return it – are you okay?” He set the glass ( _wine_ glass, Myungjun recognized) on the ground, ensuring it wouldn't tip, and hurried over to his boyfriend, hands cupping his cheeks and eyes searching his face. “Your glasses have tape on them.”

“Oh.” Myungjun swallowed nervously; he had forgotten the tape. When he had picked his glasses up from the bathroom floor, the nose bridge had been cracked. They didn't fit right, and Myungjun's only option was to tape them up until he could convince his mother to buy him new glasses. He had yet to come up with an explanation, and so he thought hard, mind blanking slightly when he saw Sanha glaring at him disapprovingly.

Myungjun was going to punch Sanha for that expression. Someone younger than him shouldn't act like that to an older figure.

“I-I ran into a door,” Myungjun blurted out, stumbling over the sentence as the lie began to form in his mind. “You, um, you know how clumsy I am. I just tripped, and, and _bam_ , hit the door.”

His heart hammered in his chest as Bin pursed his lips, obviously considering the plausibility of the situation. He only needed a few seconds, though, before he smiled and leaned over to plant a soft kiss on Myungjun's lips. “You're _really_ clumsy, Junnie. Always falling and hurting yourself. Don't do that, okay?”

Myungjun hated to lie, and guilt crept up his entire body, making his face feel flushed as he nodded his head. One day, he decided, he might tell the truth, but he couldn't ruin Bin's high school experience. So, instead, he just smiled for now, and returned Bin's kiss. “Don't worry. I'll be fine from now on.”

Bin seemed pleased with the answer, and he released Myungjun in order to showcase the wine glass he had just poured. He passed it over to Myungjun with a giggle. “I stole this from my mom's wine cabinet,” he whispered. “We don't normally get these moments, since you're always studying – speaking of, here, set the books next to the blanket, and then we can talk, alright? You had something to tell me, didn't you?”

Myungjun allowed Bin to gingerly remove the books from his hand. He stared down at the liquid in his glass, at the red crimson, and he tasted it with caution. He was no stranger to drinking, though he wouldn't devolve any of that information to Bin.

He shared a quick glance with Sanha, who pouted and pointed at Bin. “Tell him!” the boy whined, feeling safe enough to talk now that he realized Bin still could not see him.

Right. He had come here with a purpose, and so Myungjun took a deep breath. “Bin-”

“Though, maybe, after we talk, um-” Bin reached down into his pocket and cleared his throat. “I stole something else from my parents.”

He pulled out a condom.

Sanha screeched and Myungjun stared with wide eyes at the offending object, sitting so calmly in Bin's outstretched hand.

He definitely did _not_ expect that.

“I know, um, I know we've never done it before,” Bin whispered, his eyes alight with excitement. “But we've watched enough porn to know-”

“You watch _porn?_ ” Sanha squealed, and Myungjun ignored him.

“-know how to do it, and this is as good of a time as any, I thought, since it's so pretty out-”

“Myungjun!” Sanha was still whining, now shoving into Myungjun and making him lose his balance.

As Myungjun tumbled over, shocked by the force of Sanha's push and the condom in general, he couldn't help but wonder why his life was like _this_ , why he couldn't just have something nice, and why _Sanha_ had to ruin it all.

If not for Sanha, Myungjun would always have a good night's sleep. If not for Sanha, Myungjun wouldn't have been in the bathroom and he would never have been humiliated as he was. If not for Sanha, Myungjun wouldn't have acted like a fool in front of Minhyuk, and if not for Sanha, Myungjun would have taken Bin's condom in an instant.

He had to get rid of Sanha, and so the moment Bin caught him and wrapped his arms around him, Myungjun blurted it all out.

“I can't have sex with you because my neighbor is dead and he's here as a ghost, Binnie. And I need to get him out of my life before we can _do it_.”

Bin looked confused, Sanha looked offended, and Myungjun groaned and prayed that he could be struck with lightning, and that he would pass away, and that he would be reborn into someone who had a good life.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEYYOOOO 
> 
> come follow me [@vonseal](http://www.vonseal.tumblr.com) for more updates!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> twenty days have gone by since i've last updated. to the few who actually read this story, i apologize for the wait and i hope u all like this chapter ;A;

Myungjun felt guilty for ruining Bin's date-night plans. He didn't _know_ Bin had put together such a romantic evening. It wasn't often they were given this sort of chance, not with Myungjun's unhealthy habit of studying until he fell asleep, and not with Bin's parents still totally against the relationship in the first place. It was normally stolen glances and touches, little kisses in between classes, hiding _everything_ from the world-

And, Myungjun realized, hiding certain things from each other. He rubbed lightly at his sore cheek, settling on the blanket next to Bin and regarding his boyfriend with worry.

Bin stared back at him, his eyes still wide, and leaned in closely, legs crossed and hands resting on his knees, gripping at his jeans. “Myungjunnie,” he murmured, “you said there was a ghost around you? Like, right now? You're saying that you're being haunted?”

Myungjun bit down at his lip. Bin _should_ believe him. After all, Bin believed everything Myungjun said, and vice versa. There had never really been a reason to consider anything but truth in their relationship.

(Though, the more Myungjun mulled over Sanha's words, the more his stomach churned – he _was_ keeping his bullying a secret, and that was something that he would want Bin to share with _him_ , should Bin be in his position. However, he pushed those thoughts aside. At the moment, he was more concerned with his ghost situation.)

He still felt fear in him, despite his trust in Bin, that the entire situation might just be too ridiculous for Bin to follow along with. He felt that maybe Bin would laugh at him, or would discount the story as a nightmare, and then Myungjun would truly be alone, with the death of his neighbor hanging over his head.

These thoughts flitted about in Myungjun's mind, until he noticed Bin was still waiting for an answer. “Sort of,” Myungjun finally responded, after contemplating whether or not he should even continue. He worried nothing would change. He worried Bin might think he was an idiot. But getting it off his chest felt _good_ , felt nice, and so Myungjun continued, “He died last night, Bin. H-He was, um, he was shot, I think, and then he appeared to me and, um, and he can touch me, and if he tries really hard, he can touch objects, but he can't touch other people, I don't think. Ju-just me. And,” Myungjun noticed that Bin still looked shocked, and he felt his anxiety grow. “Binnie, I don't know what to do. I don't know how to get rid of him.”

Sanha, seated beside him, scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Glad to know you just want to _get rid of me_ ,” he complained.

“Not like that, Sanha, though if you keep bitching, then, yeah, I do want to get rid of you.” Myungjun snapped out a reply before remembering that Bin was still watching, still staring, and he quickly averted his eyes.

“Is he, um, is he right there?” Bin asked. “Right...right beside you?”

Myungjun didn't detect any sort of mockery in Bin's question. He didn't sense sarcasm or laughter, and so, wondering if Bin really was taking it all seriously, he nodded his head.

Bin blinked, his gaze scanning over Sanha, not quite registering that someone was even there. Myungjun saw his hand come out, grasping at the air, inching all the closer to Sanha.

Sanha winced, scooting back on the blanket and holding his breath. He looked like a child for a second; he looked his age. He didn't look like Myungjun's demonic spawn of a neighbor who existed to make his life miserable. He looked, suddenly, vulnerable and frightened, and Myungjun was reminded of what Sanha had said earlier that day.

“No,” Myungjun suddenly scolded, reaching a hand out to gently grasp Bin's arm. “Don't, um, don't do that.”

“Huh?” Bin glanced at Myungjun, then back at the spot he assumed Sanha sat. His eyes were too low from Sanha's eye-level for Myungjun to believe that he noticed anything. “I just want to feel-”

“You can't feel him. He's completely invisible to everyone but me,” Myungjun explained. “And, uh, he doesn't like...he doesn't like being reminded of it. If you touch him, your hand will go right through him.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Sanha relax a little bit, though he still remained further away from Bin (and, Myungjun realized, closer to _him_ , which was odd). Pleased that he was able to stop Sanha from feeling uncomfortable, Myungjun released Bin and cleared his throat. “I know it all sounds unbelievable. I-I mean, I never believed in ghosts myself. But, Binnie, I _promise_ , I wouldn't lie to you. Sanha _is_ here, he _is_ a-”

“I believe you.”

It was instant, spoken without any sort of hesitation, and Myungjun paused in his explanations, a little shocked by Bin's admittance. “You...you do?”

Bin smiled, albeit a little nervously, and said, “I have no reason not to. You've never lied to me before, and I doubt you'd do it when it comes to something like _this_. I mean, some of it is easy enough to fact-check, too. I can search for recent murders in your apartment complex, and, um, if I really didn't believe you, couldn't your ghost just, like, lift your shirt or something?”

“Tell him I'm not doing that,” Sanha snapped, glaring at Bin. “I don't want to see your flabby tummy.”

Myungjun was very thankful he had Bin's support, because now he might be able to figure out some way to get rid of Sanha.

“He can lift this blanket, if you, um, if you-”

Bin shook his head, a small smile growing on his face. “I told you, Junnie, I believe you. Honest. I mean, it _would_ be cool to see, but if he doesn't want to, or he can't get a hold of it, then I don't want him to.”

“He _can_ , just to prove everything true. And I know you don't need proof,” Myungjun softly added when Bin opened his mouth to protest, “but I feel uncomfortable having you believe something that I don't think I'd believe for myself.”

His boyfriend gave a pout , fluttering his eyelashes at Myungjun. “You wouldn't believe _me_ if I told you _I_ had a ghost following me?”

Myungjun couldn't help but giggle, and, ignoring Sanha's gagging noises, he leaned forward and gave Bin a small kiss on the corner of his lips. “Binnie, you're such a dork, and I love you, but it _does_ sound rather silly, doesn't it?”

“Well, sure, but it's possible ghosts exist.” Bin wrapped his arms loosely around Myungjun's shoulder, smiling at him. “So if I was being haunted, or if I _do_ end up being haunted one day, I expect you to believe me.”

Myungjun laughed again, and he eagerly accepted the return kiss that Bin gave him. Before he could kiss back, however, he suddenly felt his hair being pulled, and he yelped in surprise as he was shoved backwards by Sanha. He tumbled over on the blanket, out of Bin's embrace, and cursed as he rubbed at his head.

“Don't start making out while I'm _right here!_ ” he heard Sanha snap. “It's disgusting enough that I have to listen to the two of you talk, and I'm _not_ going to sit by as Bin probably uses his- uses that _condom_.” He spat the word, as if was too torturous to say, and Myungjun felt exasperated from Sanha's immaturity.

When he sat himself up, he noticed Bin's eyes had widened again, and he was snapping his fingers and pointing at Myungjun. “So-Something pulled you back! Oh my _god_ , is it a violent ghost? Junnie, _shit_ , I didn't realize it would do that to-”

“It's fine, Bin.” Myungjun shot a glare to Sanha, who pretended he didn't see it. “He's just a little brat who hates affection. Probably because he never gets any for himself-”

“That's _not_ the reason.”

Myungjun sighed and faced Bin once more. “So, um, that was proof, right?”

“I didn't _need_ proof, but – oh _god_ , Myungjun, it's really a ghost! I mean, I knew it was one, because you were so sure about it, but having blind faith is a lot different than actually _seeing_ proof of a ghost, you know? I mean, _god_ , it _pulled_ your hair!” Bin fretted, grabbing Myungjun and looking over his scalp, fingers softly caressing thick, messy locks of hair. “I should kick his ass for trying to hurt you like this. Isn't this the ghost of the neighbor who kept you up all night, anyway, with his stupid video games? Oh, poor Junnie.” Bin tried to copy Myungjun, shooting a glare in the direction he assumed Sanha sat. “Listen up, _ghost_ , don't hurt my boyfriend ever again, or I'll make your life a living hell.”

Sanha scoffed. “Tell him, Myungjun, that it already _is_.”

Myungjun should feel bad for Sanha. After all, he was stuck in a limbo state, not quite alive, but _definitely_ not completely dead. He was invisible to everyone and everything, except for the one person he hated most of all. He had no recollections of his death, of what had happened exactly, and he was just as clueless as Myungjun himself was. It should be easy to feel bad for Sanha. But, then again, as he watched Sanha flip off his unsuspecting boyfriend, Myungjun couldn't bring himself, in that instant, to pity the kid.

“It's the same neighbor,” Myungjun confirmed, sitting straight and clearing his throat. “And, Binnie, I need help getting rid of him. I need _something_ , or someone, to figure this all out for me, because I...I _can't_. I don't know anything about-about this sort of stuff. I don't know anything about the supernatural, Binnie, and I just-I just don't know how much longer I can live with a _ghost_. Especially Sanha.”

Bin nodded his head. “I understand,” he responded, causing Sanha to groan and fall backwards onto the blanket. “Maybe, uh, we should go back to the circumstances in which Sanha died. Maybe we can figure it out if we trace it back from the beginning.”

Myungjun was happy that, from his position, he couldn't see Sanha staring at him. “The...the beginning?” Myungjun repeated. “What _beginning?_ ”

“Well, for starters, how did he die? Who killed them? _Why_ did they kill him?” Bin grinned encouragingly. “That sort of thing, Junnie.”

That's when more guilt seeped in to Myungjun's body, clenching tightly at his heart and making it difficult to breathe.

He couldn't help but wonder if it had been all his fault, if _he_ had been part of the reason for Sanha's untimely death. After all, he had heard the commotion, had recognized a cry for help, and yet he sat there and did absolutely nothing.

He was beginning to convince himself that, even if he _had_ gotten up to confront the killers, or if he had called the police, it would have been too late. Sanha's death, from what Myungjun had heard, was quick enough. There had been arguing, one shot rang out, and then silence.

And, still, Myungjun had sat there, curled up on his bed. He wondered if Sanha really _had_ died as quickly as he had first assumed. He wondered if, instead, Sanha had bled out. He wondered if it had been painful and dreadful.

He wondered if it was worth having Sanha remember how he suffered while his neighbor had sat in relative silence and let it all happen.

As he struggled internally, he felt Bin's hand on his knee, fingers splayed out. He glanced up with a start into the soft eyes of his boyfriend.

“If it's too painful for you to talk about right now, you don't have to,” Bin whispered. “I mean, _shit_ , Myungjun, your neighbor was killed in the apartment right beside yours!”

Myungjun ran his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, don't remind me,” he mumbled, though it was spoken in jest; he had Sanha there to constantly remind him, anyway. “I'll tell you, Bin, I will, I just really don't think the information _I_ have will be helpful. I don't know who it was, and I don't know why it was. He just died, and then he-he was beside me.” Myungjun bit at the inside of his cheek. “I don't remember much else.”

“You don't know when he died?” Bin pressed. “Like, the time frame?”

Myungjun did. Myungjun _knew_. And Myungjun hated to lie. But Sanha sat up beside him, peering curiously over and listening into the conversation, and Myungjun realized that telling the truth would involve telling _Sanha_ , admitting to the poor kid that he had let him die and had done absolutely nothing.

So Myungjun lied. “I don't remember.”

It hurt to lie to Bin. He had kept one thing secret – his treatment at school – but that was only to _protect_ Bin from being bullied. This, though, was an outright lie to a question he was asked. And it added more guilt on top of what Myungjun was already experiencing, causing his heart to hammer in his chest as he wondered how on earth he could consider himself a loving, caring boyfriend if this was how he treated their relationship.

Bin nodded, accepting the lie as truth, and it hurt even more. “Alright. That's fine! We can figure something else out!” He seemed to brush it off quickly, adding, “I can search the Internet for all those supernatural, ghost types of sites, right? And I can find something, maybe, that talks about how to stop a haunting and let the ghost pass on. Because your neighbor _would_ like to pass on, right?”

Sanha was nodding before Myungjun could answer. “He would,” Myungjun mumbled. He wondered if the funeral would happen soon. He wondered if he would go.

He wondered if Sanha would go.

It was all too much to think about, too difficult to comprehend, and Myungjun groaned, burying his face into his hands. “Why did this have to happen?” he complained, both to Sanha and Bin. “ _God_ , why can't my life be fucking _good_ for once?”

“I'm the one who was shot,” Sanha snapped, but his voice was drowned out by Bin's gentle cooing.

“Hey, Myungjun, babe, it's alright.” Bin changed positions, crawling over to sit on Myungjun's other side. He wrapped an arm around the older boy's waist, drawing him close into his warmth and planting a kiss on the temple of his head. “I told you, we'll figure something out. I'm not going to let your neighbor continue to haunt you, and I definitely won't let you deal with all of this on your own.”

Myungjun ran his fingers down his face before peeking back up again. He met eyes with Sanha, who had pursed his lips and was staring at the scene before him with distaste.

“Stop acting like you have it all rough, Myungjun,” he grumbled. “I'm _dead_ , if you haven't noticed. I'm _dead_ , and you're-y-you're the one fr-freaking out.”

Suddenly, Sanha's bottom lip began to quiver, and his eyes grew watery. He clenched his hands into fists and tipped his head back to look at the sky. “I-I didn't _want_ to die,” he choked out. “And I didn't _ask_ for this, Myungjun. I-I-I'm sorry for haunting you. I don't _want_ to haunt you.” He was crying now, and Myungjun, still being comforted by Bin, watched with sorrow as a boy he had considered to be nothing but a pure nuisance sobbed to the heavens.

Sanha was right. It wasn't _Myungjun_ who should be upset, who should be comforted. It was Sanha.

Myungjun swallowed thickly before reaching a hand out, away from Bin's chest, and placed it gently on top of Sanha's own hand. Sanha looked at him in shock, tears rolling down plump, childish cheeks. Once more, Myungjun was reminded of Sanha's much younger age, and his heart began to ache.

He had to figure it all out. He had to get Bin's help and assistance. He had to come clean, one day, with the truth of his cowardice in Sanha's death. For now, though, all he could do was offer his own condolences, his own thoughtful words, and so he muttered, “It'll be okay, Sanha.”

Bin glanced over to where Myungjun was staring. “Is your neighbor alright?”

“He's-”

“Don't tell him I'm crying, Myungjun!” Sanha blurted out, his voice shaking. “Pl-Please, don't, because I'm going t-to stay strong. I'm not going to be a baby.” With his free hand, Sanha wiped at his eyes and sobbed again, “I _refuse_ to be a crybaby be-because of this. I'm going t-to fix it, and I won't _cry_. So don't tell Bin. Please.”

When the words came like that, from a boy who suddenly seemed ten years his junior, Myungjun found it impossible to ignore or reject them. He sighed and nodded his head, leaning back into Bin's chest without breaking his contact with Sanha. “A little shaken,” he lied again. It came easier this time. “But not upset. Determined, more than anything, to figure things out and to pass on into the next life.”

Sanha sniffed; Myungjun wondered if words reminding him of his ghostly status were just as painful as actions that reminded him.

Bin, unable to see the proceedings happening right in front of him, had no choice but to accept Myungjun's words at face value. He gave a small, “ah,” before smiling over at where he must have assumed Sanha was. His gaze was off by a few inches, and Myungjun directed him with a gentle push to where Sanha sat. “Sanha, right? Myungjun's kid neighbor? _I'll_ help you figure it all out, okay? Mostly to give Myungjun some well-deserved rest finally, but also because...because no one deserves that. No one at all.” He laughed, a little croaky, a little short, and added, “Be thankful it's Myungjun you have to haunt! He's the nicest, isn't he?”

Myungjun knew he wasn't, at least not to Sanha, but Sanha nodded tearfully anyway, even if Bin couldn't see the movements.

“I want to move on,” Sanha croaked. “If...If I'm _dead_ , Myungjun, if there's no way f-for me to come back, can you a-and Bin help me, at least, to move on?”

Myungjun felt pity.

“Bin and I will help, Sanha,” he murmured, and Bin nodded beside him. “I'll make sure that you won't be a ghost for long.”

He knew, though, that he had a lot of work ahead of him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAYBE LIKE THREE PPL READ THIS SO LMAO 
> 
> hmu [@vonseal](http://www.vonseal.tumblr.com)!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so sanha was proved correct...?

Myungjun had to sneak back into his apartment late that night. He usually had no issue in doing so, far to used to coming home at odd hours of the morning, but tagging a ghost along behind him caused a sort of caution to rise up in his belly, a reminder that he wasn't truly _alone_.

“Your mom won't be able to hear me, though,” Sanha had assured him. He had cleaned himself up rather nicely, wiping at his face with the sleeves of his shirt and pretending he hadn't just been sobbing in the middle of a park. He even bid Bin farewell – though Bin, in trying to return the goodbye, bid farewell to the empty space beside him. “So there's no point in _me_ sneaking around.”

It was true, Myungjun supposed, but he still felt _he_ would be suspicious, trying to keep the ghost a secret from his mother. “Still,” he whispered as he unlocked the door and poked his head inside, “I'd prefer if we both remained absolutely silent.

Sanha followed along with those orders for three seconds, until he fully stepped inside the apartment. His nose wrinkled and he slapped a hand over his mouth before hissing, “It smells disgusting! What is that?”

Myungjun scowled, gesturing over to the ashtray of cigarette butts and the empty bottles of cheap alcohol scattered across the living room. “What do you think?” he snapped, trying to keep his voice down.

The way he lived was embarrassing. The condition of their apartment, the deterioration of his mother as the years went on, was something he tried to hide. Bin didn't know; Sanha hadn't known until just then. It was pathetic, completely against the norms of what a happy, healthy family should look like. Myungjun had long since given up expecting anything to change. His mother had long since given up _trying_ to make anything change. It was Myungjun's sole reason for studying harder, staying out later, and ignoring as much as his home life as he possibly could.

Sanha was still staring over at the messy room with distaste, and Myungjun began pulling him along. “I'll give you space on my floor to sleep,” he promised in a whisper. “It's not so bad in my room. It's-”

He stopped suddenly, freezing as he heard his mother's door open. Both he and Sanha turned to look, and Myungjun cursed; they had been just mere _steps_ away from his room, but now, even if they rushed, it would be near impossible to make it without being seen.

It wasn't Myungjun's mother who stepped from the room, however. It was a man, wearing a large t-shirt and boxers and stretching his arms out in front of him. He blinked when he noticed Myungjun, then quietly closed the door behind him.

“Myungjun?” the man asked. “I didn't know you were home.”

“Where else would I be?” Myungjun snapped, and he reached back, grasping at the door handle to his own bedroom door. “Good night.”

“Your mother said you'd be out late tonight.”

“I was. And now I'm back.” Myungjun opened his door, gesturing for Sanha to go inside first, but the man just kept talking, no matter how much Myungjun made it clear that he did _not_ wish to speak.

“Were you at school? Do you normally stay at school late?”

Myungjun glanced back over his shoulder, staring at the man in exasperation. “I'm tired,” was his response. “And I'm going to bed.” He was frustrated the man was here in the first place, let alone talking to him as if they were friends of some sort. Without waiting to hear if there was any sort of reply, Myungjun slipped inside his room. Sanha quickly followed, seeming to understand that there was no more reason for him to hang out in the hallway, and Myungjun closed the door a little too loudly.

Sanha winced, and he waited for all to fall silent before whispering, “Who's that? Your dad?”

Myungjun scoffed and collapsed on his bed. He listened out for footsteps, for the sound of his mother's door opening and closing once more, and for the sign that it would be okay to talk. “I don't have a dad,” he murmured. “Not one that lives with us, anyway. He's...someone. One of my mom's boyfriends, I guess.”

“One...of them?” Sanha glanced over at the door. “She has more than one?”

He didn't want to talk about his mother and her need to have multiple men on the side. He didn't want to discuss his own constant neglect at the hands of the woman who was supposed to love him.

Sanha didn't seem to grasp Myungjun's reluctance to speak on the matter. “He looked familiar. Does he come by a lot?”

“More often than some of the others, I guess.”

“He must be her main boyfriend!”

Myungjun decided not to say that he wasn't the _main_ boyfriend, he was just the most willing. He pushed the thought aside, however, and took his glasses off, setting them down onto his desk. “I'm tired,” he repeated, though this time to Sanha. “We should sleep.”

Sanha stared at Myungjun for a few seconds before taking a seat on the bed, looking rather pleased when he didn't automatically go through it, as Myungjun was sure he had done before. “Bin said he'd try and figure stuff out,” he commented. Myungjun grunted in response, shutting his eyes and rolling over, his back now facing the ghost. “Maybe he'll ask around.”

“He'd better not.” Myungjun sighed and wrapped his comforter around his legs. “People will probably mock him if he starts expressing any sort of belief in the supernatural.”

He could feel Sanha's gaze trained right on him, and it made him uncomfortable enough that he finally glanced over his shoulder. “What?” he snapped.

“Nothing.” But it didn't look like it was just _nothing_ , and so Myungjun glared, waiting for Sanha to cave. The boy was easy enough to read, fortunately, and he smiled as he continued, “Just that you're _very_ protective of him, and I think it's still weird that you take all the punches and don't tell him a thing about what's happening. He might be able to get people to stop beating you up, if he has as much weight in the school as you claim he does.”

Myungjun rolled his eyes. Sanha didn't understand. He was a child, a naive one at that, who probably still believed that people were inherently _good_ , who hadn't fully seen the evil within others. “I'm not giving Binnie that sort of stress in his life,” he commented. “Besides, I've almost graduated. Just have to finish out this year. And, once I do, I won't ever have to worry about stupid high school bullies, and Bin won't have to worry about protecting me.”

He had assumed that would be the end of the conversation. He huffed, letting himself flop back down in his bed, and squeezed his eyes shut.

Sanha just didn't give up so easily. “How did you two get together anyway?” he asked, and he shuffled around a bit until Myungjun looked at him. He was hugging at his knees and still smiling, though his eyes gazed upon Myungjun curiously. “I mean, both of you are completely different. He's a star soccer player, super-duper admired by everyone in your school, tons of friends, and you're...” Sanha shrugged his shoulders. “You know.”

“Gee, thanks,” Myungjun snorted. “And it's none of your business.”

“Maybe he just took pity on you.”

Myungjun sat up and crossed his arms over his chest. “Stop being an ass,” he fussed. “That wasn't it at all.”

“Then _tell me!_ We both know you won't be sleeping that much tonight, and I'm curious. If I'm going to be stuck with you for an indefinite period of time, I might as well learn some information.”

Sanha was a stubborn child, Myungjun had realized over the years, and it was clear that he wouldn't readily give up until he got what he needed.

The story wasn't dreadful, in any case, and so Myungjun cleared his throat. “He was, uh, already on the soccer team. It was his first year. And I was already sort of ignored, you know, just the nerd who studied all the time. He and his friends were messing around in the hallway one day, and they had a soccer ball with them-”

“He hit you on accident, didn't he?”

“If you're going to interrupt, I'll just go back to sleep.”

Sanha giggled, but didn't try to break in again, so Myungjun continued, “He didn't hit me with a ball. He was trying to catch it, I was in his way and he didn't see, so he back up too far and tripped over me. Ball landed on his stupid face. His friends were all laughing, but a teacher was coming, and they rushed off so as to not get caught. Bin and I, then, got detention for messing around in the middle of the hallway. First and _only_ detention I've ever received.” Myungjun smiled fondly as he recalled the past, the circumstances that led up to his relationship with Bin. “He kept apologizing, even though we were supposed to remain quiet. I'm a good student, if you haven't noticed, so I kept my mouth shut until we left the room. And then he started talking, just a mile a minute. He talks a lot, when he wants to, and he mentioned that he had a boyfriend before. I don't even know _why_ it came up, or how it did, he switches conversation topics around very easily. And I remember saying to him, 'you're gay, and people like you?' He smiled and nodded and I said, 'wow, our experiences being gay are _super_ different.'”

Sanha listened on eagerly, nodding his head whenever Myungjun happened to pause. Myungjun had never had such an enthusiastic listener, and he couldn't help but to smile himself.

“He asked if I was really gay, and I confirmed. _Super gay_ , I remember saying, and he laughed over it. And we just started to hang out more, and two weeks later, we started dating. Word got out when the soccer captain that year saw us kissing after his practice one evening, and then it just spiraled out of control from there.”

“And it was just _you_ who got the full end of the bullying, right?”

Myungjun lay back down and pulled his covers up to his chest. “I already explained myself multiple times,” he grumbled, “and I'm not going to do it again.”

It was silent for a few seconds, a blissful moment that Myungjun readily immersed himself in, until Sanha whispered, “Where am I supposed to sleep?”

“I don't care.”

“Is anywhere fine?”

“You do what you want.”

Myungjun felt movement in the bed. He peeked through his eyelids and realized Sanha was laying down beside him, using half of Myungjun's pillow to rest his own head. When he noticed Myungjun's glare, he giggled, “I don't need any of the blanket, so you can keep that.”

“I wasn't going to offer.”

Sanha smirked and closed his eyes, snuggling down further into the pillow. “Just as well,” he whispered. “Because ghosts don't get cold, I guess.”

Myungjun didn't mention that Sanha _felt_ cold to the touch. Myungjun also didn't mention that it was likely ghosts probably didn't _need_ sleep, either. He felt it would be best left unsaid. Sanha was already aware of it all. He was living out his death.

And, as Sanha fell asleep, Myungjun became aware, once again, just how young he was. His lips were pouty, his cheeks squashed against Myungjun's pillow case, and, despite his assurances he couldn't get cold, he still slept in a fetal position, curled in on himself. He was a child, through and through; a nuisance, as most children his age are, prone to temper-tantrums and mockery, but still so shy and scared and vulnerable.

Myungjun stared at him for a while, scanning his youthful face, before reaching a hand out and brushing down some of his hair.

“Sanha,” he whispered, patting down some stray strands that seemed to defy the laws of gravity, “you're a brat, you know?” Sanha didn't awaken, and Myungjun smiled softly before removing his hand. “I'll do everything I can, though, to help you get through this.”

 

 ****************************  

 

The morning came with a bang.

Literally.

Sanha rolled over too suddenly, too quickly, and his head smashed into Myungjun's head. Both boys sat up with a yell, cradling their bruised skulls, and Myungjun instantly held up a middle finger, as well, conveying, wordlessly, his frustration.

Sanha recovered easier, rubbing at his forehead and pouting. “It's not like I meant to,” he fussed.

Myungjun hissed as he prodded the bruise likely forming underneath his hair. “You have a thick skull, Sanha, even for a fucking ghost.”

“One of my specialties.”

He had recovered _too_ quickly, Myungjun though, but then he remembered Sanha was a _ghost_. Sanha was already dead, and so he most likely didn't feel pain the way humans did. So instead of continuing to complain to him about it all, Myungjun let his hands drop and he just scowled at his bedsheets instead. “You woke me up before my alarm, too.”

Sanha blinked, glancing over at Myungjun's phone. “This is old,” he commented, letting the screen light up. “Oh, it's early. Should we go back to sleep?”

Myungjun checked the time, as well, and sighed. “No. Thirty minutes until my alarms _do_ go off. It isn't worth it.” He climbed out of his bed, stumbling over a few stray clothes he had left on the floor over a few previous nights and digging around in his dresser for something cleaner. Sanha followed him, hands behind his back as he smacked at his lips. “I'm going to take a shower,” Myungjun announced, patting Sanha's shoulders. “ _You_ can go back to sleep if you want, but once I'm done, we'll head on out.”

“This early?” Sanha's eyes widened. “You really want to head to school this early?”

“It'd be the best time to do more research, to figure something out,” Myungjun responded. “Besides, do you really _want_ to stick around here?”

Sanha wrinkled his nose, and Myungjun knew he was thinking of the alcohol and cigarettes and general state of mess the apartment was in. He shook his head, and Myungjun chuckled. “I didn't think so. Just sleep until we're ready to go.”

Myungjun always liked to arrive early to school anyway. It got him out of his apartment, away from his mother, and gave him the chance to get some work done that he was usually unable to do. Aside from that, he could sometimes convince Bin to get up early, as well, and they'd spend a good while kissing behind the school building.

Today wouldn't be one of those days, though. Myungjun was determined to check if the school library had any books on the supernatural, on ghosts and how to get rid of them, and so, the moment his shower was finished, he dragged Sanha out the door and all the way to his school.

“Your school is far away,” Sanha complained as they entered the near-empty building. Myungjun waved hello to a few of the administrators near the front desk before hurrying onto the library. “You need to learn the bus route.”

“It really isn't _that_ far,” Myungjun retorted. “You're just used to taking the bus to _your_ school.”

The library, too, was almost empty. The librarian was just settling down in her chair for the day, yawning and waving Myungjun in with little care, and Myungjun bowed to her as he rushed to the computers nearby.

He typed rapidly, ensuring that no one was walking by, and wrote down the names of a few books he thought might be helpful to him. Sanha remained silent all the while, content to just watch the proceedings, though every so often he would grunt and point out a book title he, too, thought might help.

They had a long list after sometime, and Myungjun pulled back from the computer. “Alright,” he whispered, “We'll check out only a little bit at a time. I'll make Binnie check some of these out, as well, and then-”

He trailed off, noticing a figure turning the corner. Both he and Sanha glanced up to find Minhyuk walking towards them.

Minhyuk looked a little surprised, his eyes remaining solely on Myungjun, but he continued to walk. “G-Good morning, uh, Myungjun,” he stammered. It was cordial, polite, and Myungjun found himself a little confused with it all. The soccer players were supposed to be jerks, but _he_ seemed nice enough.

“Morning,” Myungjun responded, and he tried to press himself up against the bookshelf to allow Minhyuk space to walk through.

Sanha, however, didn't move.

Myungjun glared at him, trying to gesture for the boy to get out of the way, but Sanha stood still, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Minhyuk.

Myungjun didn't understand _that_ , either. Sanha hated the idea of people going through him. He didn't like to be reminded he was a ghost; it was the sole reason he had shied away from Bin, shied away from _Myungjun_ before they knew that Myungjun only could make a physical connection. But now he was willingly going to allow Minhyuk to walk through him? It didn't make any sense.

Minhyuk continued to walk forward, speeding up slightly, but just before he could hit Sanha, he suddenly stopped. “Oh, Myu-Myungjun.” He turned and looked at Myungjun again, clearing his throat. “Thanks for moving, allowing me, uh, space.”

Myungjun nodded. “No problem. It's only polite.” He glanced at Sanha briefly, at his defiant expression, then turned back to Minhyuk. “Why are you here so early?”

“A project,” Minhyuk responded.

He didn't move.

Myungjun bit at his lip, then gestured down the path. “Uh, you can go,” he said, “so that way I can get out of this position.”

“There's no reason to be in that position, anyway. There's plenty of room, even with you standing normally.”

Myungjun watched him; Minhyuk appeared nervous.

He pushed himself off the bookshelf and smiled. “There. You can go, then, and I can go.”

Minhyuk swallowed thickly, then stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I, uh, forgot which book it was I needed. I should-” He turned, trailing off, intent on walking back from where he came, but before he could move any further, Sanha suddenly darted around, placing himself in front of the older boy again. He blocked the way, too, his long arms pinning Minhyuk in spot.

And Minhyuk halted. Minhyuk didn't walk anymore.

Myungjun's eyes widened in realization as Sanha gasped out, “You can _see me!_ ”

Minhyuk exhaled deeply once, waited a few seconds, and then looked up straight at Sanha. “Myungjun,” he calmly started, “tell this giant bean stalk to get out of my way.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :O
> 
> now minhyuk is involved, and only i (dont know) how far he'll go to get a giant beanstalk out of his way
> 
> hmu [@vonseal](http://wwww.vonseal.tumblr.com)! i've been a little inactive as of late bc of family reasons but i do still like to respond.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have the general idea and ending of the fic in my head, but now i'm writing down the plans for every single chapter. it'll be at LEAST fifteen chapters long, most likely more. pls enjoy the ride!

Minhyuk didn't answer any of Myungjun's insistent questioning as they hurried down the hallway. He kept quiet, eyes straight ahead, stride full of determination and purpose. But Myungjun, too, was determined, and he continued his line of inquiries.

“How come you can see Sanha?” he asked, jogging to keep up alongside Minhyuk (for such a short boy, he definitely could walk fast). “And how come you never told me before? And _why_ can you see Sanha? Or can you see all ghosts – are you like a ghost whisperer? Or, I guess, a ghost _hunter?_ Do you know how to get Sanha to pass over to the other side. Do you-”

He couldn't finish his next sentence, though, for Minhyuk grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and suddenly shoved him inside a classroom. It was empty, the lights off, and Minhyuk didn't bother messing with the lighting as he shut the door behind him.

Finally still, he faced Myungjun and Sanha with a large sigh. In the dim shine from the hallway lights, Myungjun could see exasperation and worry in his gaze.

“ _Yes_ , Myungjun, yes I can see him,” the younger boy snapped. “A tall beanstalk with a face of a toddler.”

Sanha wrinkled his nose, clearly offended by such a phrase. “I have a name,” he snapped. “Yoon Sanha. And I'm _not_ a beanstalk.”

Minhyuk snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn't look put off at all from a talking ghost. He seemed used to the idea and concept, and so Myungjun regarded him curiously as he interacted with Sanha. “You could've fooled me. It's an ugly beanstalk, too, Myungjun.”

“Wait,” Myungjun didn't care much for their squabbling. He stepped in between the two, trying to stop Sanha from punching Minhyuk's face, and asked, “Why didn't you let me know, then, that you could see him? Because we met yesterday, remember? In the library. Why did you ignore us then?”

Minhyuk turned his attention to Myungjun now, though he didn't look any happier. “What the hell did you want me to say? _Oh, hello, Myungjun, I'm on the soccer team with Bin, and why do you have a ghost with a bullet hole trailing after you?_ ” He scoffed, and even though Myungjun thought he was being rude, he did have a point, at least. It would have been odd to promote his ghost-seeing ability. Myungjun hadn't dare told anyone about it, save for Bin, and he couldn't imagine trying to explain it to someone he hadn't met. “Besides,” Minhyuk continued, “at first I thought he was alive. He looked alive. Then I noticed his wound and his discomfort, and I realized he was a ghost.”

“Dis...comfort?” Myungjun repeated; Sanha shrugged when Myungjun looked at him, also seeming unsure. “Yesterday? Why would he look uncomfortable?”

“He was sitting in a chair, and ghosts don't really interact much with objects in _this_ realm. Too difficult. Too much energy has to be used.”

Myungjun stared at him, eyes wide, and he struggled to form his next question. Minhyuk _was_ familiar with ghosts; after all, he had said _ghosts_ , as in more than one, and he seemed knowledgeable with their abilities.

It was interesting. Myungjun didn't know people could actually see ghosts. He had always assumed it was something put on television for show, for people to get famous, and others believed simply because it was fun and mysterious.

Sanha wasn't as speechless as Myungjun was, nor did he try to take the time to truly gather his thoughts. He leaned forward in excitement. “You can see other ghosts?” he asked with a gasp. “Seriously?”

Minhyuk glanced at Sanha, and despite the dark, once more, Myungjun could make out his expression: a little flustered, a little proud, and still a whole lot annoyed. “Yeah,” he responded to Sanha's question. “I've always been able to see ghosts. Since, uh, since childhood, I think.” He cleared his throat and shrugged his shoulders. “It was normal, growing up. I usually ignored them because they would get really excited if they knew I could see them, and they wouldn't stop talking to me. I don't want to be seen as the crazy loser who has a ghost trailing after him. No offense, Myungjun.”

Myungjun frowned. Sanha beside him giggled, shoving Myungjun lightly in jest. “He says you're a loser!”

“Even without _you_ , Yoon Sanha, Myungjun is still the loser of the school,” Minhyuk said. He disregarded Myungjun's glower. “So it makes sense that he's trying not to draw too much attention to you. Everyone will see him as the loser who _also_ talks to thin air.”

“You hardly know me, and you're a lot younger than me, anyway,” Myungjun finally snapped, pushing past Sanha to face Minhyuk properly. “So don't you dare talk shit about me.”

Minhyuk raised an eyebrow, but he didn't make any move to respond. Instead, Sanha reached for him and gently grabbed onto his arm, sighing in relief when he was actually able to do so. “Do you help other ghosts move on to the afterlife?”

Looking away from Myungjun, Minhyuk offered Sanha a small, hesitant smile. “Um, no. Not really. I mean, once or twice I have. I know _how_ , in any case, I just would rather not do it often.”

“Why not?” Sanha cocked his head. “If you see tons of ghosts, you might as well help them out.”

“It isn't really _tons_ of ghosts. It's one or two, here or there. Ghosts actually aren't all that common. Not like the shows and movies and books make them out to be, anyway. Ghosts only appear from a deceased human when that person doesn't really know how or why they died. Like, if it was a senseless death, or something so sudden that they didn't have time to process it, they come back as a ghost. It also can't be their fault. Has to be out of your hands completely. So,” Minhyuk gestured up at Sanha before looking at Myungjun. “Sanha here died suddenly, senselessly, from something he didn't have any part in. Is that correct?”

From what Myungjun had heard of the struggle happening in the adjacent apartment room, and from how quick it all was, he had to assume Minhyuk was right. He nodded his head slowly, unsure of how much information about the murder he should give. “I heard, um, the gunshot,” he stated, “and then I guess Sanha was dead.”

“And neither of you know who killed him?”

“Nope,” Sanha answered at the same time Myungjun confirmed Minhyuk's suspicions with a shake of his head.

He knew the police were doing an investigation, and he knew Sanha's mother had moved out to her sister's house as soon as possible, unwilling to live where her son had tragically passed away. The apartment was taped off, and while the investigation was only a day underway, absolutely no progress had been made.

“Wait,” Myungjun blurted out as thoughts of the investigation, and of the killers, and of poor Sanha crossed through his mind. “Wait, so we have to figure out why Sanha died before he can pass on?”

“Yeah. And then, once he learns the reason he died, he has to choose to pass on.”

“Choose?” Sanha blinked. “What does that mean?”

“Well, you have a choice to make after you learn why and how exactly you died. You can choose to stay as a ghost for eternity, _or_ you can choose to ascend after reliving the death.”

Sanha fell silent, the enthusiasm in his eyes fading out, replaced instead by a look of fear. Myungjun understood why; after all, he had been shot. He had been alone, scared, cornered by two men. He had called out for Myungjun to save him, and in return, he received a silence that ultimately led to his end.

“Would he have to relive everything?” Myungjun asked. “The feelings, the-the pain?”

Minhyuk was nodding his head even before Myungjun finished his question. “It's not that long, usually,” he told Sanha, who now stared at the ground. Minhyuk's gaze softened. “It, uh, it's not usually that bad. And since it looks like you've died from a gunshot wound, it'll most likely be quick. Gunshot wounds are usually rather painless.”

Sanha swallowed visibly, wringing his hands together, nerves most likely acting up. “That's-that's good,” he whispered.

Myungjun furrowed his eyebrows. Even _if_ it would cause Sanha pain, he knew they needed to do it. “You can't stay as a ghost forever, Sanha,” he murmured. Everyone would leave him at one point. No one worthwhile would be able to see him after a generation passed, and then Sanha would roam the Earth all by himself. Myungjun hated the thought of that more than anything, and so he took a deep breath and patted the younger boy's shoulders. “We just have to figure out who killed you,” he said. “And I'm sure the police will find the murderer soon! We just have to wait a few more days!”

Minhyuk watched the proceedings, watched Myungjun's comfort of Sanha, and waited for a few seconds before asking, “Am I allowed to go now? Is my interrogation complete?”

“Not yet,” Myungjun announced, turning back to Minhyuk. Minhyuk groaned and rolled his eyes, but Myungjun didn't care how frustrated he was. Letting Sanha pass on properly was the most important thing at the moment, and Myungjun would annoy everyone possible in order to ensure Sanha left sooner rather than later. “Do you mind helping us? I mean, I know we have to wait for the police to tell us exactly what happened, but when that time comes, I was wondering if you could help him pass on. Because, like, is it a question he gets asked? Does he make the decision in his mind, by thinking it? Or is it some secret, like, spell or code he has to utter?”

Minhyuk raised his eyebrows. “A secret spell?” he repeated. “What do you think this is, Myungjun? Witchcraft or something?”

“I don't know! I've never had to deal with ghosts before. Sanha just appeared to me after he died, and now I'm trying to figure it all out!”

It was quiet for a second as Minhyuk processed his thoughts, then he responded, “It usually isn't a spell. It's...something the ghost has to do. It's internal. I have a few books written on the subject, maybe books that can help, but I'm not _really_ sure exactly what it is. The few ghosts I've helped to pass on to the afterlife had to figure it out for themselves, too.”

Sanha was quick to interject, “I'm _not_ going to sit around and try to figure it out for myself, you guys. I don't even know how to _be_ a ghost, so I wouldn't know how to move on, you know.”

“He's right,” Myungjun agreed. “He's an idiot.”

He ignored Sanha's pout in favor of watching Minhyuk, who glanced out of the classroom window and sighed. The hallways were beginning to fill up with students, a surefire sign that they needed to finish their discussion soon in order to draw little attention to their meeting. “I'll probably let you guys borrow some books I have on the subject,” he promised, then opened the door. “And Myungjun? Don't tell this to _anyone_.”

Myungjun blinked, then asked, voice low, “How about Bin? He knows Sanha exists already.”

Minhyuk seemed conflicted for a second or two before finally nodding his head. “Only Bin. And that's it, okay?”

“No one else for me to tell, anyway.”

They parted then, Myungjun for his first class down one end of the hallway, and Minhyuk hurrying down the other way. Myungjun kept silent as he walked, Sanha sticking close to his side, but his mind stayed focused on the possibility of having a new friend to help him out. Allowing Bin to know about Sanha was nice, and it made Myungjun feel less alone, but having someone else who could _see_ Sanha, who knew what ghosts were and how they could pass on, was more than taking a burden off of Myungjun's shoulders. It was adding on a layer of assistance where he thought he would never otherwise receive it, and he finally felt as if he could lead a normal life once this was all over.

However, he remembered the night Sanha died. He remembered listening to the boy scream for help before the gunshot went off. And he remembered doing absolutely nothing, sitting there in silence as the police arrived and as Sanha's body was discovered. Could he really ever lead a normal life after _that?_ Could he really be okay with himself, despite keeping it all a secret from Sanha?

He remained silent throughout the rest of the day. After school, as he headed slowly to the soccer field, Sanha finally commented, “You're being a buzz-kill right now.”

Myungjun snorted as a response, stuffing his hands down in his pocket.

As if fueled by lack of any actual answer, Sanha continued, “You haven't even told me where we're going. Not back up to the park where Bin will pull out more condoms, I hope.”

“Jesus christ,” Myungjun mumbled.

“That's the first thing you've said to me in _hours_.” They neared the field, and Myungjun could already spot Bin out on the grounds, kicking at the ball and yelling stuff to his teammates. He supposed Minhyuk was somewhere around, too, though Myungjun had yet to differentiate him from the others. Bin was the only one he had cared about for the longest time. “Myung _juuun_ ,” Sanha whined, grasping at his arm and tugging. “I'm bored! I've had to remain quiet for _so long_ , and I want to know why we're going down here. Why don't we go try and figure out how I died?”

“We won't figure that out tonight,” Myungjun replied. “We should wait for a detective to help us with that. They're still investigating your death, so we just have to sit back and anticipate the results whenever they come in.”

He didn't need to look over to know Sanha was probably pouting again. He could hear it in his little sigh, in the slight huff that escaped his lips, but he wasn't overly concerned about Sanha's frustrations at this point. His eyes were trained on Bin, who was patting the back of one of his teammates. Bin had sweat dripping down his neck, his t-shirt stained dark in various places, his breathing labored, even from Myungjun's position, and his shirt _just_ tight enough to show off defined muscles.

He was gorgeous and breathtaking, and Myungjun smiled secretly as he watched his boyfriend directed his team to continue with their drills.

“There's Minhyuk,” Sanha told him, pointing out to the field. Minhyuk was dribbling one of the soccer balls, seeming very much at ease in his position.

Myungjun gave a small hum. “How is _Minhyuk_ the first person you notice?” he wondered. “Especially when Binnie is right over there.”

“Bin is _your_ boyfriend, not mine, so I'm not searching for him. Besides, Minhyuk is more important to me.”

“How's that?”

“He has the secret to getting me to the afterlife.” The two boys reached the bleachers. Sanha plopped himself down on the first one he saw, and Myungjun sat right beside him. “Also, he has interesting eyes.”

Myungjun squinted, trying to get a glimpse of Minhyuk's eyes. He hadn't noticed anything remotely interesting when they had talked earlier. “You can't see from here,” he commented.

“It's just because you're blind.”

“I'm wearing my glasses, and the lenses are thick, Sanha, I'd be able to see him if _you_ can.” His eyes drew away from Minhyuk and back to Bin, who had just kicked one of the balls into the goal, spectacularly so. Myungjun had always wanted to play soccer as a child, but he was never able to get his mother to agree to let him. Instead, he watched from the sidelines. And when he started to date Bin, he was offered the chance to join the team. But a few secret training practices with Bin made him realize that he might have the desire, but he just didn't have the skill.

Bin was willing to practice even more with him. Myungjun would just rather watch his boyfriend at this point, though, and so he smiled fondly. Bin turned and caught sight of him, waving over with a grin.

“Gross,” Sanha mumbled as Myungjun hid his own smile behind his hands and returned the wave. “You two are super gross.”

“Just because your ugly ass won't ever get a girl doesn't mean that you need to be rude to _me_ ,” Myungjun snapped. Bin was talking to Minhyuk, anyway, who was whispering and glancing frequently over at Sanha and Myungjun.

“Being ugly has nothing to do with my status as a single guy,” Sanha retorted, “I think being _dead_ has more to do with it.”

“You might be onto something,” Myungjun mumbled. “For once, you might be onto something.”

Sanha might have died single, but, suddenly, Myungjun realized something; his gaze did not once stray from Minhyuk. Large, childish eyes followed the older boy wherever he went. Sanha's fingers clenched on his pants, too, as he watched Minhyuk practice drills or defend his position against Bin's offensive line. He would soften a little whenever Minhyuk looked over at him, some sort of dreamy expression making its way up to his gaze.

Myungjun puffed his cheeks out and shook his head, before releasing all his breath and mumbling, “It won't be worth it.”

“Worth what?” Sanha asked, his attention broken.

Myungjun didn't answer at first. He waited until Minhyuk, for at _least_ the thirtieth time, glanced back at them. “Nothing,” he said. Maybe he was wrong, anyway, in thinking that Sanha was showing some sort of infatuated interest towards Minhyuk. Maybe it was admiration, or gratitude. Maybe Sanha was just some stupid, young child who was clinging to the only people who could see him.

But Sanha never looked at _Myungjun_ like that, and Sanha never smiled for _anyone_ like that.

For now, though, he would ignore it. Sanha's little puppy crushes, romantic or not, were of none of his concern. He would get Sanha to ascend, one way or the other, and if love happened to be involved, Myungjun would push it aside.

Ghosts wouldn't be able to love humans, anyway.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive updated the tags ;D
> 
> come find me [@vonseal](http://www.vonseal.tumblr.com) on tumblr, or [@nightmjare](http://www.twitter/nightmjare.com) on twitter!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the plan rn is for this fic to have 20 chapters! the semester is coming to an end, too, so I'll probs have more time to write this all in a couple of weeks. hang in there, friends!

“Myungjun.”

It wasn't really how he wanted to be awoken, shoved and pushed by a ghost, but it was his new life, and Myungjun had no choice, really, but to accept it. He groaned, burying his face further in his pillow before looking up and blinking at Sanha. “What?” he asked, groggy and exhausted.

“Someone's knocking at your door.”

Sanha looked like he had a sufficient amount of sleep, though Myungjun supposed that becoming a ghost left one in a permanent state of how they would have passed. Other than the bullet wound in Sanha's chest, he appeared perfectly fine.

Myungjun, on the other hand, didn't even need a mirror to tell that he probably looked worse for wear. He hadn't been sleeping well, for obvious reasons, and he was finding it increasingly difficult to actually put effort into his appearance when he had bigger issues to worry about; most notably the ghost that slept in his bed.

With a loud sigh, Myungjun sat up fully and glanced over at his alarm clock. It was too early in the morning for someone to come knocking, and he grumbled, “Must be one of mom's friends.”

“One of her boyfriends?” Sanha suggested, and Myungjun didn't respond to that quip, though he knew it was most likely true. After all, Myungjun had no one available to visit him; Bin didn't know his address, and Minhyuk was only a _new_ friend – and Myungjun wasn't sure if he could even call him a friend at this point.

The doorbell rang again and Myungjun ran his fingers through his messy hair. “I guess mom's asleep,” he said, standing up and stretching his arms out in front of him lightly. “Let me go tell them to come back later, whoever it is.”

Sanha followed him down the hallway. The living room was a mess, Myungjun noticed, and he wrinkled his nose distastefully. There was a full bag of trash near the front door that Myungjun had to push aside in order to move any further, and he was kicking away some discarded cigarette butts from the front entrance.

He opened the door widely, quite ready to tell off whichever friend of his mothers' had come calling, but he stopped in shock when he realized it wasn't someone who knew his mom.

It was a police officer.

“Good morning!” the officer greeted. He was tall, with a wide, gummy smile and not a sense of intimidation. “I'm sorry for coming by so early in the morning, but I'm an officer in charge of the Yoon Sanha murder case.” He gestured to the apartment next to Myungjun's. “I just wanted to ask you and your parents a few questions concerning the murder. May I come in?”

Myungjun blinked, then glanced down at his outfit. His t-shirt was ratty and stained, and his pajama bottoms were too long and trailed past his feet. He knew he must look awful, but the state of the living room was worse. Trash lay everywhere, even on the couch, mostly in the form of empty beer cans, cheap bottles of vodka, and used cigarettes. A few old dishes his mother had never cleaned also lay in piles, and the walls were peeling and yellowing. It was humiliating, really, and so Myungjun swallowed thickly and shook his head. “We're busy,” he murmured.

He didn't get much of a chance to close the door, however, because the man grabbed the handle. “I won't take up too much of your time,” he promised. He was bigger and stronger than Myungjun, and he easily forced his way inside of the living room, stopping short when he spotted the wreck that Myungjun regretfully called his home.

Myungjun's cheeks reddened; he glanced at Sanha, who shrugged his shoulders uselessly. Without any ideas to fuel him, Myungjun began to stammer, “I-It's, uh...we're, um, we're renovating.”

“Renovating?” the officer asked, picking up an empty bottle of vodka. “Renovating an apartment? With alcohol?”

He felt absolutely embarrassed, and he wrung his hands in front of him. “M-My mom's just been, uh, she's going through some tough times. It's g-getting better! So we're...cleaning. It'll be cleaned tomorrow. Promise.”

The officer nodded, then glanced over at Myungjun. “And you aren't drinking any of this, are you?” he asked.

Sanha snorted. “Tell him you once drank with Bin – remember that? And you told me you've had _loads_ to drink before, because you always steal your mom's-”

“No, sir,” Myungjun assured, ignoring Sanha, who giggled lightly in his ear. He knew the policeman couldn't see or hear Sanha, but his presence was still nerve-wracking. “It's all my mom's.”

“Do you mind bringing her in here?” the officer asked again, setting down the bottle he had been holding. “I just have a few questions about the Yoon Sanha case, and if you don't mind-”

Myungjun was quick to agree, nodding his head enthusiastically. The sooner his mother could take over, the sooner Myungjun could dress and ready himself for school and pretend that his family wasn't being questioned. He didn't quite feel like being put under the judgmental eye of a police officer. “Wait right here, sir!” he said, scurrying back down the hallway.

Sanha stayed behind, presumably to keep a careful watch on what the officer was doing - or so Myungjun hoped. In reality, Myungjun was aware Sanha probably just didn't want to peek into the bedrooms of unfamiliar women, and Myungjun would never blame him for that.

He knocked on his mother's door first, and when he wasn't given an answer, he peeked inside.

The room smelled weird and was messier even than the living room, once more solidifying Myungjun's belief that _his_ room was the only clean room in the entire apartment. “Mom,” he whispered. She didn't move, so he stepped in further, closing the door behind him. “God, it reeks in here,” he mumbled, side-stepping piles of trash in order to get to her bed. He shook her lightly and repeated, “Mom?” again.

She groaned and turned away, clutching at her dirty pillowcase. “What?” she snapped.

“There's, um, someone who wants to speak to you.”

She blinked open her eyes blearily, then glanced up at Myungjun. “Is it Naesang?”

Myungjun shook his head. “None of your boyfriends,” he commented. “But it's someone important-”

“Fuck off, Myungjun,” his mother fussed, closing her eyes again. “I had a long night. Tell them to leave. If it's really important, they can text me.”

Myungjun could smell alcohol on her as he stepped closer, and he sighed. “You're _drunk_ ,” he complained. “How much did you drink to still be like this right now? How _long_ did you drink for? Mom, I can't just send him-”

“Don't you dare make me tell you again, or I'll hit you,” his mom exclaimed.

Myungjun's lips tightened in a thin line, and he quickly backed up. “Fine. I'll tell him to leave.” He didn't want to argue, and he definitely didn't want to be slapped. She had a strong arm when she was drunk, as he had learned many times before, and it would be best to take his leave while she was still too groggy to do anything.

But that involved having to tell the officer another lie to cover for his mother, and as he shut her door, he thought quickly about what that lie could be.

He was slow in stepping into the living room again. The officer was standing in the same position, still looking around at the messy room, and Sanha watched the policeman carefully.

“He looked through some papers,” Sanha muttered. “And I'm sure he could totally hear your conversation you just had. I could, anyway. Myungjun, does your mom _hit_ you?”

Myungjun rolled his eyes and gave Sanha a quick look of frustration before stepping forward and getting the policeman's attention. The gaze of the older man was pitying; he did hear everything, it seemed, and Myungjun hoped his cheeks weren't too red from more embarrassment. “She's, uh...sick,” he fibbed. “Can't really sit up. Doesn't feel like talking.”

“Why did you just lie? We both heard it!” Sanha hissed, as if talking loudly would reveal himself to the police officer.

Myungjun didn't quite know why he felt the need to lie still. He _knew_ the conversation had been heard, and he _knew_ the policeman was aware he was lying. He wanted to protect his mother, though, as much as he could; while he longed to cut ties with her the moment he graduated from high school, he couldn't do anything drastic at the moment. He felt a sense of connection to her, a sense of endearment; after all, she was his _mother_ , and as screwed up as his life had become due to her neglect and abuse, he couldn't find it in him to turn her over to the police.

Fortunately, the officer did nothing but nod his head. “Ah, well.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Are you sure it's just an illness? Nothing else that needs to be reported?”

“Just an illness,” Myungjun quickly responded, offering the policeman a small smile.

The officer returned the smile, and though his gaze remained sympathetic, he chose not to dwell on the topic any longer. Instead, he sat on the couch and gestured for Myungjun to join him.

“My name is Officer Park,” the man started, pulling out a notepad and continuing to smile at Myungjun as the boy sat down cautiously beside him. “Like I mentioned, I'm one of the officers investigating the murder of Yoon Sanha. I was looking through files and Yoon Sanha's mother mentioned that you typically stayed up late studying and yelling at Yoon Sanha through the walls. Is that correct?”

Myungjun ignored Sanha's laughter, and he defended himself. “Sanha always played video games late, and he was loud, and my room is right next to _his_ room. It's hard to sleep when he's doing that sort of shit. But I didn't _kill_ him, if that's what you're asking, I swear. I was in my room the entire time and I only-”

“It's okay! No one thinks you murdered him. Don't worry.” The officer reached over to pat Myungjun's shoulder. “I was just wondering if you remember anything from that night. Because if what you say is true, then you can hear most of what goes on in his bedroom, correct?” He waited for Myungjun's response; Myungjun could do nothing but nod slowly in confirmation. “And because gunshots are very loud, you had to have at least been woken up by it. Were you?”

Sanha was staring at him in curiosity. Myungjun had yet to tell him much information concerning that evening. He _tried_ to push it all out of his head, to keep it far away from his memory, but it would replay all the time. He blamed himself often for not having done more to try and prevent Sanha's death. Perhaps if he had acted the first time he heard Sanha banging on the wall, maybe tried bursting in and attacking whoever it was that killed Sanha, then his neighbor would not be dead.

Myungjun did try to convince himself that there was nothing at all he could have done. Getting to Sanha's apartment would have taken time, at _least_ half of a minute, and by that time, Sanha would have been shot, anyway. His rush wouldn't have saved Sanha; in fact, it might have killed _him_.

And, yet, all he could think of was sitting in his room in fear as Sanha died on the other side of that damn, thin wall.

“Um,” Myungjun started, swallowing thickly and shuffling his legs around in front of him. He glanced up at Sanha, who stared back with an inquisitive gaze. “Uh...” He then turned and looked at Officer Park, who still seemed friendly and offered him a grin.

“It's alright if you don't remember much,” he assured Myungjun. “Many witnesses to these sorts of events tend to forget what exactly happened. If fear overtook you in that moment, then you're less likely to recall these memories.”

It would be an easy lie to go with, and he had already mentioned to both Sanha and Bin that he didn't quite remember things at that moment.

The guilt in his stomach continued to build up as he shrugged his shoulders.

“I...sort of remember the gunshot,” he murmured, running his fingers through his ruined hair. “It's difficult to _not_ hear it, you know. But...um, I was scared, at that moment, and I was just woken up for it and didn't know what it was. I don't remember much else. I had been sleeping one moment, and the next, suddenly, I'm...awake and there's police cars and ambulances and I had no clue what happened.”

He heard Sanha beside him sigh heavily, disappointed at not having learned any new information.

He wondered if he could be considered an accomplice; he kept away the fact that Sanha had begged for help while the shooter deliberated whether or not to kill him, and he kept away the fact that he heard _two_ men talking, voices muffled from both Sanha's paused game and the pounding in Myungjun's ears. Wasn't it illegal to keep information from the police?

Perhaps, if they learned the information themselves, Myungjun could claim he remembered it, too, that their discovery spurred his own recollection of the events. He knew that would happen sometimes, if the crime dramas he watched were anything to go by. And, sure, maybe television shows weren't an entirely accurate portrayal of the law, but he knew no one could peg him as the murderer if they found the other two men.

Officer Park hummed lightly, writing a few things down. “This sort of thing is difficult for witnesses,” he repeated.

Sanha snorted. “It's difficult for the victim, too,” he fussed, but, in order to maintain his sanity in front of a policeman, Myungjun ignored him.

“You need to make sure you have a large support group. Um...usually parents help with that.” Officer Park glanced down the hallway, near Myungjun's mother's room, and he asked, “Does your father live with you?”

“No, sir,” Myungjun responded. He had no idea who his father was, and he was thankful Officer Park didn't press him more on the subject.

“Mm.” Officer Park, for some reason, wrote down something else. “How about friends?” He completely bypassed Myungjun's strained relationship with his mother; Myungjun didn't know if he was happy or frustrated about that. His emotions had been chaotic ever since Sanha's death, though, so he didn't think too much of it. “Do you have a circle of friends that you can lean on?”

Myungjun tapped his fingers on his knee. “Let's see,” he murmured, though he already knew the answer to that question was a definite _no_. “Um, I have Bin.” He wet his lips with his tongue, then discreetly glanced at Sanha. “Minhyuk?”

“I don't think you and Minhyuk are friends yet,” Sanha whispered.

So Myungjun shook his head. “Just Bin,” he told the officer, who, once more, had a look of pity in his gaze. “But just Bin is fine! We've been friends for a little bit, a-and I don't mind it if he's the only person I have. I mean, I'm able to talk to him! Like, uh, like friends do.”

“But, that's it?” Officer Park urged.

Myungjun gave a small laugh, trying to lighten up the situation. “I've been talking to another guy, Minhyuk. I mean, I just talked to him once yesterday morning, but, ah, he's nice enough, I think. But Bin is the only person I need, I'm being honest. He's all I've ever had.”

“And me!” Sanha piped in; his voice was unheard by Officer Park.

The policeman's lips were tightened into thin lines. He stared at Myungjun for a few more seconds, the atmosphere turning tense and awkward, before finally standing from his seat. “Well,” he said, clearing his throat. “I...I do think, Myungjun, you should try and find more people to talk to. Maybe a support group, or-”

“I'm fine,” Myungjun promised him, also standing. “Bin's being helpful, and I'm sure I can go to any of the teachers if something starts bothering me.”

Officer Park nodded his head, though he looked more as if he was trying to convince himself. Myungjun could understand – _he_ , too, was still trying to convince himself that he'd be just fine after this entire thing blew over.

“Well, um...” Officer Park flipped his notepad and began to scribble something down on a new sheet of paper. “Support systems are very important after a tragic event such as this. You need to have people to talk to – more than just Bin. I'm sure your friend is fantastic at listening, but it would also be helpful to have others who have been through similar instances as yourself.” He tore his sheet of paper from the notepad and handed it over to Myungjun. It listed an email address and a phone number, and Myungjun stared at it in confusion. “That's my personal number, and personal email,” Officer Park explained, smiling brightly down at Myungjun. “If you ever need help with anything at all, or ever just need to talk, please don't hesitate to contact me. I could also help set you up with support groups, maybe with other children your age who have experienced violence, or, um...” Officer Park gestured around him, chuckling nervously, “or other things.” Myungjun knew he was referring to the house, and the family dynamics, and so he shrugged his shoulders, a non-response to the words of an authority figure.

Officer Park didn't seem bothered. He simply smiled and moved his hand to point at Myungjun's clothes. “I won't take up any more of your time, not when you need to ready yourself for school!” he exclaimed. “Do well, Myungjun; I'll probably come see you shortly, if you don't call, just to see if you remembered anything new.”

He bid farewell at least three times after that, continuing to talk regardless of Myungjun slowly moving him over to the front door. Once he was gone and down the pathway, Myungjun sighed and leaned up against the door, sliding slowly until he was seated.

“You know,” he mused, “I never assumed I'd be questioned for someone's murder.”

“Yeah.” Sanha sat down beside him and snorted. “I never thought I'd be _murdered_.”

“Guess we had different plans for our lives, didn't we?” Myungjun closed his eyes and felt Sanha lean up against him. “I should get ready for school,” he whispered.

Sanha didn't move.

“Sorry if he made you think more of your death.”

“I think about it all the time,” Sanha murmured. “How I can't remember anything, and how I'm a ghost, and how I'll never be _alive_ again.” He sniffed and rubbed at his nose. “Myungjun? It sucks. They don't know anything about how I died. I can't even tell you, because _I_ don't know, and because I want to be alive so bad. It sucks.”

Myungjun couldn't help but allow more guilt to pile onto his already-stretched accumulation, and he frowned as he leaned back up against Sanha. “Yeah,” he responded. “I know.”

_And I'm sorry_ , he thought, but he couldn't say that. He would never say that.

Sanha would never know the truth, and Myungjun preferred it that way.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next two chapters will be just as boring as this one. next chapter will involve some more...sockY? and then more excitement and figuring out the mystery behind sanha's death after the next three boring chapters.
> 
> (and after the next three chapters, myungjun's life just goes downhill until the final chapter. apologies.)
> 
> come visit me on either my tumblr ([@vonseal](http://www.vonseal.tumblr.com)) or my twitter ([@nightmjare](http://www.twitter/nightmjare.com)) to tell me how to write an actual entertaining story for once.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we introduce a new character and actually get a few things rolling!!! it'll pick up from here on out (and not in a good way)

It was odd to see anyone other than Bin walk up to him in the hallways. Other students, too, found it odd, and so things stilled as Myungjun was approached by Minhyuk.

A few students whispered questions among themselves. _Why_ would a star soccer player come to find _Myungjun?_ Why was he being polite? Why did he bow his head slightly and greet Myungjun with a lackluster, “Good morning.”

Myungjun had the same questions. He wasn't used to being treated well, and so he felt tense as he stood beside Sanha, jaw tight as he returned Minhyuk's greetings.

“Um...” Minhyuk started, glancing around at the other high school kids milling about. “I, uh, I have a question.”

Myungjun waited for it, but nothing came. Minhyuk seemed to have realized he was suddenly on the spot, suddenly the center of attention, and he didn't like it. He cleared his throat and jerked his head. “Follow me to the library?” he questioned.

Myungjun _would_ have done it, too, if not for Sanha's arm that suddenly stopped him.

Sanha typically didn't try to get involved in Myungjun's school life. He understood that he was invisible to almost everyone, save for Myungjun and Minhyuk. He understood that a high school was probably no place for a ghost.

And, yet, out of the blue, he decided to involve himself.

Myungjun glanced at him once before looking pointedly away, not wanting to look like the weirdo who stared at thin air.

Sanha spoke; he had been unwilling to speak in front of other people at first, in fear they might hear but not see him, but he had grown accustomed to being ignored by everyone save for Myungjun and Minhyuk. It was easier, now, for him to speak without thinking people would hear him. “He can talk right here,” Sanha declared to Minhyuk, smiling cheerfully. “Because there's no reason to act like a coward in front of your classmates. Myungjun's not _that_ bad of a guy.”

It was funny, really, because despite Sanha defending him, Myungjun felt nothing but guilt. He had lied about what he had heard in Sanha's apartment that night, lied about having been asleep until he heard the gunshot, and yet Sanha was treating him more kindly than he ever had before.

Myungjun hated himself for keeping silent still.

Minhyuk looked conflicted, but he never once removed his eyes from Myungjun. He was probably far more used to seeing and dealing with ghosts nearby, and he seemed to understand how to pretend all was normal in front of the general public.

“It's...about your little problem,” Minhyuk murmured, stepping closer to Myungjun in order to ensure no one else was listening in. “Or, rather, your... _long_ problem. Tall problem. The monstrosity that reminds me of a beanstalk problem-”

“I could have done without being called a _monstrosity_ ,” Sanha fussed, and his words made Minhyuk's lips quirk up in a little smile.

“What about my problem?” Myungjun asked, holding on tightly to his books.

Minhyuk's tongue darted out to wet his lips, nervous and anxious, and he whispered, “Come over to my place tonight. Bin will text you the address. I have books that will help.”

And, before Myungjun could say anything else at all, Minhyuk was hurrying past him, disappearing into the crowd of students, who all looked bewildered that a soccer player that _wasn't_ Bin had allowed Myungjun to go free without any ounce of mean words or physical violence.

Myungjun, too, felt a little shocked. He reminded himself that it _was_ just Minhyuk, who had always been rather quiet and gentle, and of course Minhyuk wouldn't ever do anything to him, but it was still a surreal feeling to go unscathed from an encounter with someone else.

It made him smile slightly, maybe more than he necessarily should, and he closed his locker door.

No one had ever invited him over to their house before, either. Bin had once, to come out to his parents, and that turned out absolutely disastrous. Since then, Myungjun had only ever gone to cram school, or the library, or else that little spot up on the hill to hang out with Bin. He hadn't received an invite to someone's house since primary school, and he couldn't wipe that stupid smile off his face for the rest of the day.

For once, he decided to skip going to the library. Sanha was shocked, following him down the hallway with a gasp. “The nerdy Myungjun, _refusing_ to go study!” he exclaimed, loudly, unafraid of anyone other than Myungjun hearing his voice. “This is a day that they will learn about all throughout history, the day where Myungjun has decided to live life like a _normal_ high school student!”

“Piss off, Yoon Sanha,” Myungjun teased, though he couldn't help but giggle. Most students weren't paying him any attention, and so he felt free – more so when he stepped outside with a loud sigh. “It's not going to be a big friendly sleepover like you might think. I'm sure Minhyuk only _tolerates_ me at this point. He just has information that I need – that _you_ need.”

Sanha nodded his head as they traveled down the sidewalk. “Minhyuk's so cool,” he stated, that expression of awe taking over his face as he mentioned Minhyuk's name. He had taken to doing that recently; if Minhyuk passed by in the halls, or if Minhyuk was near Bin, or if Minhyuk even _waved_ at the two of them, Sanha looked like he had been struck by lightning. It would have been cute if it wasn't so tragic, and Myungjun felt, once again, that load of guilt pile on top of him.

He usually tried to ignore Sanha's feelings, but on days like these, he felt the need to curb them. “I mean, the police aren't getting anywhere,” he continued as if Sanha had never spoken. “At least, I haven't heard anything since Officer Park came by last week.”

“Minhyuk can probably do more than they can,” Sanha responded.

Myungjun refrained from rolling his eyes. “In terms of helping you to pass on, yeah, he can help, but he can't do jack shit about catching your murderer.”

Sanha shrugged his shoulders, undeterred in his affections, and continued to walk, with a little skip in his step, alongside Myungjun. “Is Bin already over there?” he asked.

At least they were no longer talking about how great and amazing Minhyuk was. The guilt in Myungjun's stomach settled a little bit, and he nodded his head before pulling his phone out of his pocket. “He said that he had to run home first to grab something, so he'd be by in a little bit.”

“The two lovers are apart – I can't believe you're able to survive without him for extended periods of time!”

“Christ-”

“I wonder if Minhyuk was any video games I can play while you guys work.”

“No.” Myungjun shut his idea down hurriedly as he glanced at the address Bin had texted him. “ _You_ will be helping us – you're the primary reason I'm giving up my studying in order to go over to some soccer player's house, and so you'll be sitting down and going through the books with us.”

Sanha whined, loud and obnoxious, and gestured to himself. “I'm a ghost, though!” he retorted. “It takes too much energy out of me to flip through books. You know this, too!”

“And then what makes you think you'd be able to play a video game with your ghostly self?” Myungjun asked.

It did the trick in shutting Sanha up, though he pouted for the rest of the walk over to Minhyuk's place, arms crossed over his chest and lower lip jutted outwards. He seemed to cheer up a bit as Myungjun knocked on Minhyuk's door (after ensuring the address was correct), and when Minhyuk answered, he _definitely_ looked happier, as if he had never been upset in the first place.

“Hi, Minhyuk!” Sanha greeted cheerfully, waving his hand at their new friend, even if they were standing right in front of each other.

Myungjun watched carefully, closely, and noticed a light blush spread up Minhyuk's cheeks.

_Great_ , he thought, realizing the beginnings of young love. He didn't _want_ them to fall in love, because it amplified his guilty conscience, and it would only end in pain for the two of them. Sanha _had_ to move on; if he didn't, he would be stuck roaming Earth forever and ever. It would be a torturous existence, one where no one would see him or hear him or feel him. Minhyuk, too, if he refused to help Sanha move because of his own slight infatuation, would hang onto the kid for as long as possible. Minhyuk would grow old and Sanha would stay young. Minhyuk would die and pass on, and Sanha wouldn't.

And so Myungjun broke in between the two of them, clearing his throat and offering his own cheery smile to Minhyuk. “Bin hasn't arrived yet, has he?”

“No.” Minhyuk snapped out of his own little daydream in order to properly speak with Myungjun. He ran his fingers through his hair and opened his door a little wider. “Has he been texting you?”

Myungjun nodded his head. “He said he'd be here shortly.” He stepped inside the house and hummed thoughtfully. It was nicely decorated; small, warm, and cozy. It was clear that a family lived there, maybe a little child, if the small toys about were anything to go by, and Myungjun couldn't help but ask, “Do you have a little brother?”

Minhyuk glanced behind him at the toys. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry for the mess.” Before Myungjun could tell him not to apologize (besides, it was a _good_ mess, a lovely mess, a family-oriented mess that Myungjun would adore to have), he continued, “He's out right now with my parents. Went to go visit my grandma earlier today. They won't be back until late tonight, which is why I thought we'd be able to all make some good progress today.”

Myungjun agreed, and asked, “So we're going through a book?”

“A few books,” Minhyuk replied, gesturing for Sanha and Myungjun to follow him upstairs. “I got these books a while ago, back when I was trying to _stop_ seeing ghosts. I remember reading something about the process in helping a ghost pass on, but I don't remember _how_ , exactly, to do it. I thought if we all read through the books, it will make time pass by quicker and we'll find our answer before we leave.”

Sanha trailed behind Myungjun as Minhyuk showed them to his room. It was clean, almost perfect, with just two posters of some pop band hung up on the wall. Sanha seemed to notice them, stating the name with excitement, and Minhyuk blinked. “You listen to them?” he asked.

“Of course I do!” Sanha said, his eyes sparkling with the knowledge that the boy he was falling for liked the same thing _he_ liked. “I went to their concert last year!”

“Really?” Minhyuk looked excited, his own eyes growing wide. “I've always wanted to go! How was it? Did you get to meet them?”

Before Sanha could answer, Myungjun broke in with a sigh. He adjusted the glasses on his face and pointed at the books on Minhyuk's desk. “Are these the books?” he asked.

Minhyuk snapped out of his enthusiasm, blinking quickly in order to dispel thoughts of pop bands and loud music and catchy moves. “Oh. Yeah. You're in a hurry, aren't you?”

Myungjun snorted and grabbed the first book in the stack. “I've been sharing my bed for over a week with a ghost, and he won't even leave the room when I change. Of course I'm in a hurry.”

When Minhyuk glanced over at Sanha in confusion, the boy turned red. “What?” he whined. “I don't want to leave his room by myself! His apartment smells weird, and his mom is-”

“Sanha, why don't you come and help me look through this book and find passages that might help us?” Myungjun snapped, gripping tightly at the book he held. He didn't _want_ Sanha spilling any information about his less-than-satisfactory home life. It was humiliating, embarrassing, and could very well ruin things if the authorities were able to do something. Officer Park had already seen the state of his house and his relationship with his mother, and while he probably wouldn't take any action at the moment, something _would_ be done if Minhyuk were to report on his well-being.

Despite her negligence and abuse, Myungjun still loved his mom. He didn't want her to be locked away in jail. He wouldn't mind moving far, far away from her, but only when he could afford to completely cut ties.

Sanha seemed to recognize that he made a mistake, fortunately enough, and he nodded his head and shut his mouth, but before he could scurry over to Myungjun's side to help him out, Minhyuk said, “Actually, I'd like for Sanha to help _me_.” He shrugged at Myungjun. “I'm assuming you and Bin would rather work together.”

It was true; Myungjun would much rather work with his boyfriend. He would _also_ like for Sanha not to whisper any information to Minhyuk, so the desire to keep his ghost friend nearby was strong.

But not as strong as his desire to sit with Bin in a rare moment they would have together.

“Fine,” he grumbled, taking up a spot on Minhyuk's floor. “Sanha, keep your damn mouth shut about my life, though.”

“Don't need to tell me twice. You're boring to talk about,” Sanha responded, and he sat down with Minhyuk.

They didn't sit for too long. The doorbell rang and Myungjun excitedly proclaimed that _he_ would answer it. Minhyuk and Sanha didn't seem too upset about his offer, and Myungjun raced down the stairs with a large grin on his face. He wanted to hug Bin in privacy, to kiss him quickly, and to just hold him for a few minutes without anyone watching or judging.

He opened the door. Bin stood there, looking equally pleased to see Myungjun as Myungjun was to see him.

“Hey, babe!” his boyfriend greeted, and without saying anything in return, Myungjun threw his arms around him, kissing his cheek and giggling into his ear.

He would have continued kissing, probably, if not for the new voice that sounded close by. “Hello, Myungjun.”

Myungjun glanced over Bin's shoulder, confused when he saw Lee Dongmin standing there awkwardly and waving stupidly.

“Dongmin?” Myungjun questioned, and he looked at Bin for an answer. Why would Dongmin be there? Dongmin went to another school; he was Bin's childhood friend, and he was _smart_ , but there was no reason for Bin to bring him along when all they were doing was hunting for paranormal advice.

Bin laughed, ruffling Myungjun's hair. “Aren't you happy to see him?”

“I mean...” Myungjun got along fine with Dongmin, but he didn't understand what Dongmin was _here_ for.

His confusion wasn't evident to Bin, but Dongmin picked up on it. “Bin told me that you had a ghost trailing after you, and so he said since I'm the second smartest person he knows, he thought I'd be helpful.” Dongmin didn't look all too happy to be called _second_ smartest. “He says that you're the smartest, so I might be useless, I guess.”

“Damn right I'm the smartest,” Myungjun fussed, and he pulled Bin inside. Dongmin followed, much to Myungjun's frustration, and so he, too, would be subjected to Myungjun's complaints. “Binnie, why the fuck is Dongmin here? I thought we agreed to keep it silent.”

“Yeah, but you told Minhyuk, so I thought-”

“I didn't _tell_ Minhyuk. He can see ghosts, so he figured out on his own.” Myungjun groaned and slapped a hand over his forehead. “And he'll be pissed that you brought someone else, you know. He doesn't want other people knowing that he can see ghosts. I mean, he was already mad that I told _you_ , in the first place. And _I'd_ rather people not think I'm some crazy moron for trying to get rid of ghosts. Dongmin's smart, so he probably doesn't even believe in ghosts.”

Bin snorted. “Are you kidding me?” he asked. “Dongmin's the biggest dork I know. He believes in ghosts, and yetis, and aliens, and demons that hide out under your bed-”

“Okay, Bin, that's enough,” Dongmin exclaimed, stepping forward. He looked flustered, a little upset, and he shoved Bin's shoulder. “What Bin _means_ to say is that I'm...interested, a little bit, in the supernatural. I'd like to help. He simply mentioned it to me, and I thought maybe I'd be able to offer some assistance.” Dongmin laughed nervously. “I, uh, I've read books before, when I was younger, about ghosts and...and that sort of thing.”

Myungjun still didn't like the idea of Dongmin now knowing about his personal life, about details he tried to keep hidden from all other people. But Dongmin already _knew_ , was already in on it all, thanks to Bin, and so there wasn't much Myungjun could actually do. His help would be valuable, in any case, and so, with another loud sigh, Myungjun nodded his head. “Fine,” he mumbled. “But don't blame me, Binnie, if Minhyuk kicks your shin with those stupid cleats you guys like to wear.”

Bin just laughed, and he wrapped an arm around Myungjun's waist as they headed upstairs. Dongmin trailed behind, the third wheel suddenly, but Myungjun made no more effort to include him.

(Maybe, sometimes, he was jealous of Lee Dongmin and his stupid good looks and his charm and his friendship with literally his entire school and the fact that he had known Bin for way longer than Myungjun had – maybe, sometimes, Myungjun was jealous, though he never would admit to it.)

“I already have us a book picked out,” Myungjun said, speaking to Bin, though he threw over his shoulder. “Dongmin, you can probably work alone, since you'll make our little study group an odd number.”

“Brilliant,” Dongmin responded. “Thanks, Myungjun.”

Myungjun hummed in response and opened the door, instantly diving into his spiel of, “Minhyuk, you _know_ Bin is an idiot, and so he brought-”

But the sight before him made him freeze in his steps.

Minhyuk was holding Sanha's hand and placing a kiss to his cheek.

They drew apart from each other the moment Myungjun made himself known, but it was too late. Myungjun had already seen the two of them in that position, in that _cute_ position, and the guilt was already churning full-force in his stomach.

“Minhyuk?” Bin asked, “why the fuck were you making a kissy-face into thin air?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so begins the (possibly tragic, according to myungjun) socky! and they're no further in figuring things out because LMAO WHAT IS PROGRESS.
> 
> come visit me on either my tumblr ([@vonseal](http://www.vonseal.tumblr.com)) or my twitter ([@nightmjare](http://www.twitter.com/nightmjare)) to explain to me how one progresses properly in a fic.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> halfway through, once u finish this chapter, and it'll definitely pick up from here on out!

Things had become awkward now between Myungjun and Sanha. They hardly talked, save for small formalities throughout the day, and even as they worked to find the answers to Sanha's death, they remained rather silent.

It was weird, really, being haunted by a ghost who chose not to speak, but Myungjun wasn't even sure what _he_ could say to alleviate the situation.

Sanha had accepted a small kiss on the cheek from Minhyuk. Sanha had a crush on Minhyuk. And Minhyuk, it appeared, liked Sanha back just as well.

Myungjun tried to tell the two of them off. He tried to explain _why_ a relationship between them could never work out. He did so under the watchful and curious gazes of Bin and Dongmin, both of whom were left out of the loop, both of whom had no idea what was going on.

“ _You_ ought to be smarter than this, Minhyuk,” Myungjun had fussed, chastising the younger boys. “What the fuck do you have to gain from kissing a ghost? Once we figure things out, he's going to be gone, you know, and then you've been kissing him and developing feelings for him for no reason.”

Sanha was rather red, for such a pale ghost, and Minhyuk was glaring angrily back up at Myungjun, defiant and rebellious.

“Mind your own damn business,” Minhyuk snapped, and he gathered a few of the books he and Sanha had been looking through. “I know what I'm doing. Just because you're a bit older doesn't magically make you an expert on relationships and feelings. I was being _friendly_ to Sanha. Not every kiss has to be romantically-inclined, Myungjun.”

Myungjun scoffed. “Oh, really? So you're honestly telling me that you meant absolutely _nothing_ by that kiss?” Minhyuk said nothing, so Myungjun pointed to Sanha. “Tell that to him.”

But Minhyuk did not. Minhyuk simply retorted, “Sanha and I will study downstairs. Don't bother us until you're ready to leave.”

They disappeared from view, Sanha looking far more embarrassed than Minhyuk looked, and Myungjun took the opportunity to complain to his own boyfriend about the ill-fated relationship. “I mean, Sanha's a _ghost!_ ” Myungjun exclaimed, not at all interested now in looking through the books. “Minhyuk is kissing a _ghost!_ And I wouldn't care so much, except now Sanha will leave with regrets, and Minhyuk might _live_ with regrets.”

Bin didn't seem too perturbed. He shrugged his shoulders and leaned up against Minhyuk's bed. “If you turned into a ghost, Myungjun, I'd still want to kiss you and hold you and love you as long as I possibly could. I wouldn't be able to help it; my feelings for you would be stronger than any sort of logical thought in my mind.”

It was sweet, and it made Myungjun pause in all his ranting and venting. “Am...am I being a little too dramatic about this?” he asked quietly.

Bin giggled and drew Myungjun into his arms, embracing him tightly and planting kisses all along his cheeks. “A little,” he murmured. “I think Dongmin agrees.”

Dongmin looked to be the only one doing any work on the subject of ghosts departing into the afterlife, and when his name was mentioned, he glanced up from his book and grimaced at the sight of Myungjun and Bin cuddling each other. “I'm just here for the research,” he mumbled, and so the group fell silent again, though Myungjun still could not let go of how _awful_ of a decision Minhyuk and Sanha were making.

He reminded Sanha of his terrible choice for the next couple of days. When they _did_ talk, Myungjun typically started the conversation, mentioning, “You know ghosts and humans can't really form any sort of emotional bonds like the one you've been trying to form with Minhyuk?”

Suffice to say, Myungjun understood it when he woke up one day with no Sanha in his bed and a text from Minhyuk that read, “Sanha said he'll haunt me for a while. Stop being a jackass.”

He hadn't realized how lonely he was through the school day with Sanha now missing. He had to deal with everything himself; he had to deal with the pushing and shoving from fellow classmates, the giggles and whispers tossed his way, the blatant _hatred_ some of the students showed him – all of it now was thrown towards him and he had no one at all to talk to about anything.

Already towards the middle of the day, he was exhausted and wondering how on earth he ever got on without Sanha's presence.

As he gathered his books with a tired sigh and closed his locker door, he noticed someone coming closer to him, weaving in and out of the crowd of students. The boy's stance was set, determined, and his smile was far too friendly for Myungjun's liking. He had piercings in both his ears and dark, shaggy black hair that fell just short of hanging over his eyes.

He had muscle, too, Myungjun could tell from his stature, and Myungjun geared himself quickly to face another bully.

“Myungjun?” the boy's voice was rough, slightly deep, and Myungjun sighed.

“What?” he mumbled, keeping his gaze lowered. He hated being so submissive, but it _worked_ , sometimes, oddly enough, to keep people from hurting him too much.

The boy was in front of him now, and a few students nearby had quieted down, interested in this new spectacle. After all, not too many people talked to Myungjun without the intention of causing some sort of trouble, and this boy seemed like no exception to that rule.

“I'm Park Jinwoo!” the boy suddenly greeted. He grinned, gummy and sweet, his eyes turned upwards with his smile. “We have the next class together – history, right?”

Myungjun blinked, staring at Jinwoo in interest. He had never really kept up with his classmates. He didn't know who he had classes with because it wasn't ever important. People hated him, so he treated them all the same way, and Jinwoo must be no exception.

So Myungjun shrugged his shoulders. “I wouldn't know,” he responded.

Jinwoo wasn't at all deterred from Myungjun's lack of enthusiasm. “We should walk together, then! And I'll sit with you. You normally sit in the front, right?”

Myungjun really couldn't say much of anything in all his confusion. Why would someone be friendly to him? So far, only Minhyuk had actually approached him during school hours, and it was to discuss their ghost situation.

Therefore, Myungjun came to the conclusion that Jinwoo must have some sort of ulterior motive. There was absolutely _no_ reason for his friendliness. He had never cared before, either, to be Myungjun's friend. What had changed? What was different? Myungjun glanced down at himself. He hadn't grown beautiful overnight; he still wore cheap clothing and his glasses still had tape on the nose bridge. His cheeks were still chubby, his lips too plump, and his hair too messy.

But when he glanced up at Jinwoo, the boy was smiling, awaiting Myungjun's response.

He dumbly replied, “Sure, we-we can walk together.”

If anything, it made Jinwoo smile all the more. “Great!” he exclaimed, and as they walked down the hallway, students parted for them, whispering in equal confusion.

Jinwoo ignored everything, save for Myungjun. With Myungjun, he chatted as if they were the closest friends. He discussed his history homework, how he didn't think he did very well on his recent math exam, how he really admired Myungjun's intelligence and he was _certain_ Myungjun was super witty, because, according to him, all smart people were witty.

It was overwhelming, and by the time class started, Myungjun's mind was reeling.

He texted Bin, phone hidden behind his textbook and out of sight from both Jinwoo and his teacher: _do you know someone with the name Park Jinwoo?_

Bin was fast with his response. _Jinwoo? No. Why?_

_No reason_ , came Myungjun's text, and he pocketed his phone hurriedly, trying to figure things out.

The only explanation he could come up with _was_ some sort of ulterior motive. Jinwoo probably wanted to hurt him in some way. Bullies had done it before, approaching Myungjun with the prospect of friendship and, later on, stabbing him in the back in order to gain a few laughs from their real friends. Myungjun didn't trust anyone at the school, other than Bin, and so as he walked to his next class, Jinwoo trailing behind, he decided his best bet was to just ignore Jinwoo's entire existence.

But Jinwoo was persistent. He continued to pop up throughout the day. He sat with Myungjun for lunch, he helped him gather heavy books for one of his harder classes, and he chatted all the while, asking questions and receiving silence as his only answer.

It was frustrating. Myungjun _knew_ something was up, and yet Jinwoo just seemed genuine. It seemed like he was truly being friendly, but, in Myungjun's mind, that wasn't at all the answer. Jinwoo was probably scheming, plotting, and just biding his time to catch Myungjun at his most vulnerable moment.

At the end of the day, as Myungjun waited right outside for Bin to join him, Jinwoo stuck with him, talking about a dog he had seen on the way to school, asking if Myungjun would like a dog, asking if Myungjun would like _any_ pets at all, and Myungjun finally couldn't contain his anger anymore.

“What the fuck is your issue?” he snapped at Jinwoo, who looked taken back. “Why don't you just leave me alone, like everyone else? Or, if you're _going_ to mock me and torment me, do it normally, okay? I don't like this sneaky, underhanded way of ruining my life; be upfront about it, you asshole.”

His sudden barrage of words seemed to catch Jinwoo off guard. The boy was shocked into silence for a second or two before stammering out, “I-I-I'm not trying to ruin your life, Myungjun. Why did you think that?”

He was lying. Somehow, he was lying, and Myungjun was out to prove it. “Why else would you sit with me and talk to me and treat me nicely?” he asked.

“I wanted to be your friend,” Jinwoo defended himself. “You...you sit by yourself all the time. You don't talk to anyone in class, or during lunch, and people are jerks to you in the hallways and you just take it. I don't think that's...that's _right_. I think you seem like a good person, and I'd like to be friends with you.”

Myungjun bit his lip. It sounded too good to be true; it _wasn't_ true, in that case. “Don't you have other friends?” he mumbled, frustrated still.

Jinwoo shrugged his shoulders. “A few classmates I talk to here and there. Most of my other friends go to different schools.”

No mean words. No bullying, no mocking, no teasing. Myungjun was intrigued by this all, and so he made a point to say, “I have one friend here. He's my _boyfriend_.” Jinwoo didn't flinch, and so Myungjun tried again. “Jinwoo, did you hear that? I kiss a _boy_. I make out with a _boy_. I'd like to have sex with a _boy_.”

“Well, you're dating him, so that's to be expected!” Jinwoo exclaimed with a slight giggle. “Isn't your boyfriend on the soccer team? Moon Bin, right? I can see why you like him – he's really tall!”

Jinwoo's acceptance of Myungjun's dating life was a little odd, and Myungjun stared at him through his glasses, his eyes wide and curious. “Aren't...aren't you put off by that?” he asked quietly. “I'm gay, Jinwoo. Why aren't you...being a jerk?”

“Why would I be a jerk about it?” Jinwoo laughed again and patted Myungjun's back. “It doesn't change the fact that I think you're a good person. I don't care who you date.”

Myungjun had no response, no retort. He couldn't even call Jinwoo out anymore on scheming; Jinwoo _really_ wasn't reacting to Myungjun's rather explicit words from before, about kissing and sex. Jinwoo had accepted it all without even batting an eye.

Luckily, his silence was swallowed up by someone else calling his name and rushing towards him. Both Jinwoo and Myungjun glanced towards the school building, where Bin hurried down the steps, Minhyuk and Sanha reluctantly trailing after him.

“Junnie!” Bin exclaimed, stopping just short of gathering Myungjun up in a hug. “Oh. Sorry. I didn't- I didn't know you were hanging out with, uh, with someone. Who's this?”

Myungjun glanced over at Jinwoo, who smiled brightly at both Bin and Minhyuk. His eyes didn't glance over at Sanha, which was just as well, because Myungjun didn't feel like trying to explain any ghostly presence. “This is, um, Park Jinwoo. He's...he's in my history class. We were just talking.”

“You're Moon Bin, right?” Jinwoo blurted out, and he bowed his head slightly in greeting. “Myungjun was talking about you! His boyfriend, yeah? I was going to ask how you two met.”

Bin wasn't at all suspicious. Myungjun assumed he would have no reason to be; despite his sexuality, people _liked_ Bin. And so Bin opened up instantly, delving into the story of tripping over Myungjun while playing soccer, of their confessions to each other. Jinwoo listened on, interested and intrigued, giving small _awws_ where he needed, little coos here and there.

Myungjun couldn't believe that Jinwoo was actually fine with him, with who he chose to love.

When Bin came to a pause, Myungjun tried to derail the conversation, to continue ignoring Jinwoo's existence. Jinwoo _had_ to have an issue with him, and Myungjun was worried that he might use the information Bin gave him to ruin Myungjun's life.

“Bin,” Myungjun interrupted, tugging at his jacket sleeve. “Why's Minhyuk here?”

Minhyuk snorted and shrugged one shoulder, gesturing it towards Sanha. “My giant problem missed you.”

Sanha looked a little ashamed, and he tried, unsuccessfully, to hide his body behind Minhyuk. “I got sad, imagining you waking up everyday to your stupid life,” he added on. “So I had to come back.”

Myungjun pursed his lips, and his response, while focused on Sanha, was directed to Minhyuk. “Your giant problem is being an asshole.”

He noticed Jinwoo look confused, glancing up at Bin, who just laughed and told him, “Inside joke, I think, but I'm not sure, either.”

“Don't act like you don't know,” Myungjun fussed at his boyfriend, who smiled sweetly and grabbed onto his hand.

“Of course, Junnie. Sorry.” Bin kissed his knuckles, then rubbed a thumb over Myungjun's skin.

Myungjun spared a glance to Jinwoo, trying to properly gauge his reaction, but Jinwoo just seemed to find it all cute. He was grinning, staring fondly over at Bin and Myungjun's joined hands. “I've been in several relationships, Myungjun, but I've honestly never been in one as sweet as what you and Moon Bin have.” Before any of the boys could make a remark, Jinwoo glanced at his phone and sighed. “I should get going. I promised my mom I'd come home for dinner instead of studying here. I'll see you tomorrow, Myungjun, and it was nice to meet you, Bin!”

He hurried off, leaving Myungjun confused in his absence. Neither Bin nor Minhyuk seemed to care, though, about Jinwoo's sudden arrival, nor of his acceptance of Myungjun. Only Sanha stared at Myungjun in understanding, and only Sanha mentioned Jinwoo later, as the two of them walked home.

“You don't trust that guy, do you?” Sanha asked, the first words he had really spoken to Myungjun in days.

“I...I don't know,” Myungjun admitted. “I didn't at first, but...he seems okay, I guess.”

Sanha hummed, and the two walked along quietly again, until Myungjun asked, “So why did you leave me for Minhyuk? Because you _like_ him?”

“Shut up, Myungjun. I left because all you talked about was Minhyuk.” Sanha sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “It's hard enough being a ghost, okay? And...and now I've found someone I think I _like_ , and it's even more difficult. And I know I'm dead, I know I can't be with him, but I...I want to.” His voice was lowered to a whimper. “I want to stay with him for as long as possible. Even if we can't be together, I want to make use of what little time I have with him. And Minhyuk knows this, alright? We talked a lot about it. And we've been working hard at trying to find a solution and figure out some way for me to...to pass on into the next life. The sooner I can leave, I guess, the less chance there is for either Minhyuk or I to get _too_ attached to each other.”

It was oddly mature, especially coming from someone so _immature_.

Myungjun wondered, briefly, if Minhyuk and Sanha would have a future together should Sanha be alive. Myungjun wondered if they would have met, at some point or another, and fallen in love.

Myungjun wondered, not for the first time, if it was his fault that Sanha could not have the happiness he desired.

“I was just worried for you two,” Myungjun muttered in response. “But...but I won't stop you anymore. Even _if_ Minhyuk decides to kiss your cheek in the middle of our studying, I guess I'll accept it.” He sighed. “You guys will have to deal with the heartbreak that will come later with your passing.”

“We will,” Sanha assured him. “You just focus on figuring out if that Jinwoo guy is actually trustworthy or not. Because something's fishy with him.” Sanha wrinkled his nose. “He didn't think you're just a nerdy, short loser, like everyone else does.”

“Thanks, Sanha.”

“He actually thinks you're cool, and instead of feeling nauseated with you and Bin, he found it adorable.”

“Because we _are_ adorable.”

“I'm going to help you keep an eye on him,” Sanha promised as they neared Myungjun's apartment home. “And if he tries anything, I'll stop him. I've been getting more energy lately. I can hold stuff for longer, you know, and sit on stuff without feeling exhausted. So I could probably get enough energy to beat him up, if you need me to.”

Myungjun scoffed. “You and what muscle?” he asked, feeling the guilt slowly leave him as he fell into a usual routine of teasing and messing around. “Jinwoo could probably beat you to a pulp before you raised a single finger.”

“You're _really_ underestimating me, Myungjun!” Sanha whined. “I could do it! I'll show you with Bin, okay?”

“Touch Bin and you're dead.”

Sanha laughed, loudly, and shoved Myungjun. “Empty threats!” he exclaimed cheerfully.

Things seemed to be working out. Myungjun was suspicious of it all, of all the good things life was suddenly handing him, but for the moment, he decided he would accept it.

Because he knew life would easily snatch it all away soon.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> life does have a way of taking away all the good things. rip myungjun. ;D
> 
> come visit me on either my tumblr ([@vonseal](http://www.vonseal.tumblr.com)) or my twitter ([@nightmjare](http://www.twitter.com/nightmjare)) to give me ideas for new fics (and to discuss the secret fic that will be published when i finish at least two other chaptered fics :O)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags have been updated :O

Myungjun always felt as if he was in a frantic rush to leave his house in the mornings. He awoke early enough to get ready in time, and he was usually dressed and proper within an hour. If he checked a clock, he would realize he still had at least another hour until school began, and the walk there wasn't _that_ long, but Myungjun would instantly embark out there door.

The less time he spent inside his house, the better it was for him.

The air in there was suffocating. He no longer wanted to be cooped up where things smelled weird, like alcohol and cigarette smoke and trash. School, as terrible as it treated him, was much more preferable than home.

Myungjun pulled on his uniform and straightened his jacket. “It's not too wrinkled, is it?” he asked Sanha, who regarded him thoughtfully.

Sanha, despite being a ghost who haunted Myungjun's every move, was useful in many regards, including quality-checking Myungjun's school outfits. Myungjun didn't have a full-length mirror, and because of the dim lighting in his apartment, he couldn't really tell if he looked fine.

Sanha could take over that job, staring him up and down before giving a thumbs up. “You still look like a loser,” Sanha said, “but I guess it's fine.”

Myungjun was used to all of Sanha's insults and personal quips, and so he did nothing in return except roll his eyes. “I just...I need to find my chapstick, before we head out.”

But a quick search of his room revealed no hidden chapstick container, and Myungjun sighed heavily before checking his watch again. He had plenty of time to continue looking, but he didn't _want_ to stay inside any longer. If he got to school early, he could text Bin to meet him somewhere so they could hang out for a little bit. Or else, if Bin couldn't come, he could simply just study, or perhaps find Jinwoo and talk to him for a little while. Jinwoo had been nice enough to him for the past few days, and Myungjun was losing all thought that the kid might actually be _mean_. He invited Myungjun and Bin over to his house, too, sometime down the road when none of them were as bogged down with schoolwork.

“Why don't you look in the living room?” Sanha suggested, breaking into all of Myungjun's thoughts. “You might have put it down somewhere in there.”

“If I have, then I'll leave it,” Myungjun responded, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the thought of combing through his living room. It was probably the messiest room in the house; trying to search for lost items reminded Myungjun of the pitiful state of his life, and he didn't exactly want to put himself in a bad mood, not when things had been going so well for him recently.

Still, though, his lips were dry. He smacked them together and winced. “Here, let's go check my mom's room.”

Sanha blinked. “Excuse me?”

“She's sleeping, probably, and she's a heavy sleeper. I know she keeps some chapstick in her bedside drawer, so I'll just take that.”

Sanha wasn't convinced, but Myungjun didn't give him too much of a chance to say anything about it. He wanted to get to school, and he was willing to trespass into his own mother's bedroom in order to find what he needed and rush out of the house as soon as possible.

Myungjun opened her door quietly, sighing in relief when he realized she wasn't even there. “She's not home,” he murmured to Sanha, opening the door wider and stepping fully inside.

Her room was just as dirty as the majority of the house, unfortunately. Myungjun pursed his lips and stepped inside the room, already trying not to trip over garbage bags or discarded clothing. It smelled the worst in this area, as well; strong alcohol permeated every object, and Myungjun could swear that cigarette smoke must linger behind her closed doors.

“It...it smells weird,” Sanha mentioned, poking his head inside as Myungjun hurried over to the bedside drawer.

“Beer and cigarettes,” Myungjun replied shortly, and he opened up the drawer.

Sanha, behind him, hummed thoughtfully. “Not _that_. There's something else. I've smelled it before.”

“Maybe her laundry detergent.”

“Does your mom _use_ laundry detergent?”

Myungjun glared over his shoulder at Sanha and held up his middle finger. The boy giggled lightly and moved over to Myungjun's side, bending down and pointing at the chapstick, laying on top of a stack of papers. “There it is,” Sanha said. “Can we go?”

Myungjun snatched up the chapstick and applied some to his lips, but before moving, his eyes caught onto the writings on the first stack of papers.

_Life Insurance Policy_.

He stared at it in confusion for a second or two, then reached into the drawer and grabbed the papers.

His name was written on a few pages, which intrigued him further.

“She took out life insurance?” he wondered out loud.

Sanha peered over at what Myungjun held, though he seemed rather uninterested. “Was she not supposed to?”

Myungjun shrugged his shoulders, flipping through a few pages.

He didn't necessarily understand most of the legalities of what was written down, but it didn't seem like his mother to actually take financial control of _anything_ , least of all his own life. He supposed they didn't live in the best of neighborhoods, though, and not in the best of apartment buildings, and after what happened with Sanha, she was probably maturing a little and trying to set their affairs in order.

“No, she...she can do that,” Myungjun answered Sanha's question, and he straightened out the papers. “It's just very much unlike her to do anything.”

He realized, too, there was something else that was settled underneath the papers. Little plastic bags, old and slightly crinkled, lay all in neat rows, stashed together as if trying to stay hidden.

Myungjun picked one up with his free hand, holding the corner of the bag in between his fingers. “What the fuck is this?” he whispered to Sanha.

Sanha stared at it, examined it, then muttered, “Don't know. It looks like...” He trailed off suddenly and slapped his hands over his nose. “It _stinks!_ That's what's stinking up this whole room!”

“Huh?” Myungjun brought the bag closer to his own nose and sniffed, then, with a sinking heart, realized that Sanha was right.

And realized exactly what was in the bags.

He stuffed it back into the drawer quickly, his hands trembling as he tried to set things up the way they looked before. All the while, Sanha watched on, his eyes widening slowly as recognition of the bags suddenly hit him, too, and he gasped out, “Myungjun!”

“Shut up, Sanha.”

“Those are _drugs!_ ”

Myungjun slammed the drawer shut and turned to glare at Sanha, squatting on the floor beside him and staring at Myungjun in absolutely shock. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Myungjun beat him to it, holding a finger up in front of Sanha's face as if chastising him. “Do _not_ ,” he snapped, his voice quivering, “ever bring this up again. Okay? Don't fucking talk about this. Pretend you didn't see a damn thing.”

Sanha had seen it, though, just as clearly as Myungjun had seen it. His mother was stashing away drugs in her bedroom. It explained the odd smells in her room that seemed like neither alcohol nor cigarettes. It explained her behavior half the time, too, her displeasure when Myungjun entered her room unsupervised, the money that Myungjun had seen her once or twice roll up into big wads and claim she was taking to the bank.

As much as Myungjun tried to deny it to himself, his mother _was_ involved with drugs, in one way or another, and he walked to school with dread and fear grasping tightly at his heart, his head hung low as his mind played over all probable explanations as to why his mother would even be stashing drugs away in the first place.

Everything came back to the simple answer of, _because she uses drugs_.

He had been handling just fine the fact that his mother was a chain smoker, and an alcoholic. He could handle, too, being neglected and abused by her hands. The law in those matters were a little murky; it wasn't illegal for her to drink or smoke excessively, and no one could really _prove_ that Myungjun suffered at her hands, not without becoming a ghost – as Sanha was – and following her around secretly.

But drugs were visible. Drugs held proof of illegal activities. Drugs could bring her down – and with her, Myungjun, too, would fall. He would be sent away, perhaps, until he was old enough to make do on his own. He might have to leave Bin's side. He might become involved in lengthy court battles.

Most importantly, he might have to watch his mother go to prison.

He didn't want for his mom to suffer. He didn't want her to be labeled as a criminal.

As they walked, Sanha kept silent, fueled by Myungjun's anger and desperation. Myungjun could detect a question on the tip of his tongue though, a question that most likely would not receive any answer. Myungjun himself had no answers, no thoughts, no conclusion as to _why_ his mother had drugs.

Except, of course, that she was a drug user.

“It was familiar,” Sanha spoke again, words soft and cautious.

Myungjun glared over at him, but Sanha did not flinch.

“The smell was, I mean. It...it smelled familiar, Myungjun, but I _know_ I've never smelled it before. No one I know ever used drugs, but I've smelled it somewhere.”

Myungjun paused in his steps and glanced over at Sanha. He was curious and intrigued. Mostly, though, he was concerned. “Where?”

“I...I don't know.” Sanha bit at his lip, thinking, then shook his head in defeat. “I really can't remember, but I _know_ I've smelled it. It's familiar. It's really odd.”

There was really no response he could give to that. He just wordlessly shrugged his shoulders and gripped tightly at his backpack, wetting his lips with his tongue as he tried to think. His brain wouldn't work, though, too focused on all that his mom was doing to go against the law.

“Sanha?” he murmured, catching the boy's attention. “If...If I know my mom has drugs, and I don't say anything, that would make me an accomplice, wouldn't it?”

Sanha looked apologetic, but he appeared not to know anything. “I'm not sure, Myungjun. Would it?”

Myungjun glanced over at his school building, just in sight. If it _did_ make him an accomplice, then surely keeping information of Sanha's killers from the police would also make him an accomplice. Surely withholding all of this information was against the law, and could create legal troubles for him in the future.

Myungjun's breathing felt short. He took a few more steps toward the school, then turned back to Sanha again. He couldn't stop shaking and he couldn't stop the fear and guilt and terror gripping tightly to his heart. “I swear, Sanha, you can't _tell_ , okay? Only you and I will know about it, won't we?”

Sanha was a brat, Myungjun was well aware, but he at least understood serious questions and concerns when they were presented to him. He nodded his head firmly in agreement, and with his promise that he wouldn't ever spill Myungjun's secret, they set off again to the school.

Myungjun, however, just felt sick to his stomach. He wanted to take an absent and go home, but he never wanted to _be_ home, not near the drugs, and not near his mother.

Part of him thought of texting Bin. He could hold onto Bin, maybe, and his boyfriend might refrain from questioning him about his mood – but, really, who was he kidding? Bin always wanted to make sure Myungjun was happy, and even the slightest bit of negative emotion would cause Bin to become frantic with worry.

He couldn't let Bin know what was going on. Bin was aware of Myungjun's ghost, but his knowledge ended there. He was left in the dark on things concerning Myungjun's home life and the difficulties he was accustomed to. Bin only knew that Myungjun's father was out of the picture; aside from that, he had no idea how difficult things had truly become.Myungjun kept from him how pathetic his life truly was. He made believe that, while things might not be _ideal_ , he was happy enough with what he was given.

Bin knew hardly anything, and Myungjun preferred to keep it that way, to keep Bin from worrying, to allow Bin freedom and happiness to live the best life possible.

The school building wasn't as empty as Myungjun would like for it to have been. People were already milling about, talking to their respective friends, not once glancing over at Myungjun as he trudged up the stairs to the school all by himself.

He supposed he led a rather lonesome life. His only friend was Bin – maybe, too, Dongmin, to some extent, and maybe Minhyuk, as well, to a certain degree, and now possibly Jinwoo. But none of them knew, either, about the struggles he had and the life he led. They were all left in the dark.

The only person who had any sort of knowledge was Sanha.

Sanha might be a ghost, but Myungjun realized he was happy that he wasn't fully alone. He was _happy_ that he had Sanha with him, helping him and sharing the experience with him and _being there_ for him. He was so happy he didn't have to wallow about by himself any longer. It was slightly easier with Sanha.

“Come on,” he mumbled to Sanha, leading the way to his locker. “We're going to go to the library to study for a bit.”

He hoped studying would distract him from what criminal activities his mother was involved with. If he could bury his nose in a book and remain undisturbed for a long period of time, perhaps all thoughts of drugs would soon leave his mind. The discovery might become obsolete; maybe, too, things would fix themselves in the end, and he wouldn't feel as terrified.

As he gathered his books from his locker, he whispered, “Sanha?”

“What?” Sanha asked, definitely not controlling the volume of his voice. Myungjun envied him; he was invisible to the world.

“Will...will I get in trouble for not reporting it?”

He knew he was repeating his question from earlier, but it was something he knew he wouldn't be able to shake. Was he really going to be considered some sort of accomplice if he kept it all a secret? Protecting his mother was a noble cause, but he feared it would come back to haunt him later on. “What if police discover it?” he asked, pulling back from his locker with all of his books in hand. “And what if they discover I knew about it all along?”

Sanha bit his lip then shrugged his shoulders. “I don't know,” the boy admitted, as he had before, and Myungjun wasn't entirely certain how he _would_ know. Sanha was young, just a child, and wasn't aware of laws and legalities. “But as long as you stay quiet, no one will know that you know, right?”

He was correct, and Myungjun sighed as he started to walk down the hallway again. He wanted to continue to talk, to maybe switch subjects so as to further the myth in his mind that everything was alright, but as he turned the corner, he ran straight into another boy.

A few of the books fell out of his hand, and some papers scattered to the floor. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence for someone to run into him so harsly, and so Myungjun blurted out a quick apology before bending down to grab his fallen items.

Most people just ignored him, even if they had originally caused it, but this boy laughed, jarring and sharp, and then kicked one of Myungjun's books further down the hallway. Myungjun glanced up, gritting his teeth, and the kid smirked down at him. “What's wrong, Myungjun?” the kid asked, voice filled with mockery. “You _like_ being on your hands and knees, don't you?”

Myungjun had several comebacks in his head, all of which could wipe the smile off the kid's face, but he chose not to say anything. Instead, he slowly picked up his books, and the kid walked off with a snort, leaving Myungjun alone in the hallway by himself.

Alone, sans Sanha, who bent down beside him and tried his best to use energy in order to slide books over to Myungjun's hands. He got the one that was furthest away, then sat down with a large huff of breath. “He's an asshole,” Sanha said. “Ignore him.”

Myungjun would ignore him. He would ignore the kid just as he ignored everything else. He always ignored the bullies, the teasing, the beatings, and the name-calling. He ignored his mother's blatant alcoholism, her neglect, the terrible life she had created for him. He was ignoring the drugs stashed away in his house.

And he had ignored Sanha's pleas and cries for help on the night he was murdered.

Things seemed to be hitting him all at once. He couldn't think properly past the guilt and helplessness piling up within his heart. All he could do was grip tightly onto his books and release a small sob.

Sanha glanced at him, and Myungjun ducked his head into his chest, biting down harshly at his lip. “Myungjun?” Sanha asked, reaching out to pat his back cautiously. “Are you alright?”

Myungjun shook his head. “No,” he gasped out. He felt a few tears spring to his eyes, and he wiped them away, but more took their place. They rolled down his cheeks and fell from his chin as he finally allowed himself to cry, in the middle of the empty hallway with only Sanha as witness to how awful his life had become. “Sa-Sanha, I hate this.”

He needn't expand on _what_ he hated, for Sanha seemed to understand, what with the knowing look in his eyes and the way he used the little energy he had left to embrace Myungjun tightly.

Sanha seemed to know and to understand that Myungjun hated everything.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and from here on out, it's basically a complete downward spiral for myungjun and sanha. <3
> 
> come visit me on either my tumblr ([@vonseal](http://www.vonseal.tumblr.com)) or my twitter ([@nightmjare](http://www.twitter.com/nightmjare)) to give me validation.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a lot of language in here, so pls be warned! also slurs!

Myungjun had not been getting much sleep since his discovery of what his mother hid away in her bedside drawer. He tried his best to avoid his mother, too, to lock himself up in his room whenever he _did_ stay home and to pretend the problem didn't exist.

He was becoming withdrawn, in fear of accidentally spilling such a large secret. Even Bin noticed one evening, as they sat on their little hillside all alone, Sanha off visiting with Minhyuk again.

Myungjun, leaned up against Bin and sighed, but said nothing otherwise. Bin looked down at him, then whispered, “Are you okay?”

Myungjun nodded his head as response, but Bin couldn't leave it well enough alone. “It's just...it's just that you've been really _off_ recently. You're really quiet whenever I see you and you've quit trying to solve this murder case for Sanha. I overheard Minhyuk asking you about it and you just told him to shut up.”

It was true that Myungjun tried not to discuss anything having to do with the case, either. He was still interested in allowing Sanha the chance to pass on, but he couldn't think about a murder when all that plagued his thoughts, both in wake and in sleep, was the fact that his mother held drugs inside of her bedroom. He no longer had to deal with only one criminal case; now he had to deal with two.

“I think I've just been tired recently,” Myungjun murmured. It wasn't necessarily a lie, but, once again, he refrained from telling Bin the truth. He kept things secret, hidden. He lied constantly in order to protect those he loved, and as Bin cooed over him and pressed kisses into his hair, Myungjun felt that guilt, once more, overwhelm his entire body and soul.

Bin didn't deserve him. Bin deserved someone who would speak nothing but the truth, who would cherish and trust him enough to allow him more information. Instead, Myungjun skirted the truth. He lied about _everything_ now, just to protect those closest to him.

He didn't know if betraying someone's trust could be considered _protection_ , however, and he felt sick to his stomach as Bin captured his lips in a sudden and passionate kiss.

Myungjun closed his eyes and kissed back, going through the motions, but soon enough, he felt himself trying not to cry. His eyes were burning with unshed tears, and he drew back and gripped tightly at Bin's clothes.

“I...I need to go home,” he blurted out, trying to quell his boyfriend's confusion. “I'm really tired, Binnie, I'm so sorry.”

Bin seemed concerned. He ran his fingers through Myungjun's hair, his gaze searching as it passed over Myungjun's face. “You look unwell,” he commented, and he pressed another kiss to Myungjun's nose, sweetly. Myungjun tried not to flinch from such a pure expression of love. “I'll take you home.”

Myungjun panicked at the offer, shaking his head quickly as his eyes widened. “No!” he exclaimed. “No, don't...you don't have to.”

Bin seemed all the more confused with Myungjun's exclamation. “I _want_ to. You're not feeling well, babe, and I don't like the idea of you walking alone in the dark when you're sick.”

It was such a lovely, kind gesture. Myungjun wondered why Bin was with _him_ , when he could have someone who wouldn't throw him aside anytime he tried to be sweet. He wanted Bin to walk him home, though. He _wanted_ it, but then Bin would see where he lived. Bin would see _how_ he lived. Bin would be in full understanding of how terrible Myungjun's life had become, and then things would come into light. Bin was always full of concern for Myungjun; he would likely call authorities and explain the situation, explain Myungjun's living habits and his strained relationship with an abusive, alcoholic mother. People would become involved. Myungjun would be torn from his school, which he was nearly completed with, and his mom, who would be tossed in jail.

He couldn't allow that to happen.

“Bin, I'll be fine. I'll call you if anything happens. But you know I live further away, and then I'd be worried about you walking home in the dark.”

“I can take care of myself, though.”

Myungjun raised his eyebrows. “And you're saying I can't?”

His serious tone and demeanor was what made Bin hesitate, and he knew it. He stared his boyfriend down until Bin finally relented with a sigh and a nod of his head. “Fine,” he murmured. “But, seriously, call me the moment you get home safe, okay?”

Myungjun promised, and they parted ways then. It was a shame he always had to lie, and it was even more of a shame that Bin so willingly believed him. Sanha had always joked that Bin might be dumb, but he wasn't dumb at all. He was incredibly smart and had plenty of common sense, but Myungjun knew he was just extremely trusting. If Myungjun told him something, he believed it because he thought Myungjun could never lie.

It was upsetting, living with the knowledge of just how much he betrayed Bin's trust on a daily basis, and by the time he got home, his mood had soured all the more.

His mom sat on the couch, smoking and watching television. Beside her sat another man, who instantly smiled as Myungjun walked in the door. Her _main boyfriend_ , as Sanha referred to him as, and a man Myungjun instantly hated, if only because Myungjun knew his mother cared for this man more than she cared for her own son.

“You're home late, Myungjun,” the man said as greeting.

Myungjun's mother didn't even glance over.

“I was studying,” Myungjun mumbled, kicking his shoes off and trying to hurry away.

But the man stopped him, reaching out to grab his arm. His grip was a little tight, and he smirked proudly as Myungjun tried, and failed, to pull away. “Not even a greeting, huh? Jiyun, did you mean to raise such a rude boy?”

Finally, Myungjun's mother glanced over at him. She stared for a second before her eyes darted down to the man's hand, wrapped around Myungjun's wrist. She seemed to notice Myungjun's distress, and so she leaned in closer to her boyfriend and kissed his cheek. “He's always been that way, Naesang. I've raised him the best I could.”

His mother seemed to serve well as a distraction, and the man released Myungjun in order to pay _her_ more attention. Myungjun took his chance and hurried off to his room, where he slammed his door shut and dropped onto the bed.

He tried to sleep after calling Bin. Sleep hated him at this point, though. Sleep reminded him of all that was wrong in his life, and so he tossed and turned throughout the night. He gave up in the early hours of the morning, content instead to work on extra problems in his textbooks, and, finally, once the sun began to rise, he readied himself for school.

He looked dreadful. He had bags under his eyes and he could no longer tame his messy hair. He bemoaned his appearance to Bin when they met outside early that morning, but he never once mentioned _why_ he couldn't sleep.

Instead, he gave a simple excuse of, “I'm just very sick, I guess.”

Bin bought it. Myungjun hated the pitying gaze his boyfriend gave him, the comforting kisses he left on the plush of Myungjun's cheek before he departed. The guilt rushed over him once more, and as he grabbed books from his locker, he struggled to keep inside all of his emotions.

But, of course, circumstances just couldn't allow him a break.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Minhyuk walking towards him. In tow was Sanha, who looked worried and frantic. Sanha kept grabbing at Minhyuk's shirt sleeve, tugging and pulling, but Minhyuk was unperturbed from his mission, and he ended up standing right beside Myungjun, hands crossed over his chest as he leaned up against the neighboring lockers.

Myungjun blinked, staring first at him, then up at Sanha, who _still_ continued to pull and tug at Minhyuk.

“Sanha spent the night with you, then?” he questioned, thankful that only a few people milled about.

Minhyuk nodded his head. “Not in the way you think,” he commented, “but we got a lot of talking done. _We've_ been continuing the investigation, even if you, Bin, and Dongmin keep calling it off.”

Myungjun rolled his eyes. “Don't blame those two,” he fussed. “Bin sees no point in going if I don't go, and Dongmin won't go if Bin doesn't go.”

“And why don't you go?”

Minhyuk's question was sudden, and when Myungjun looked at him again, he didn't quite like the knowing glint in the boy's eyes. It didn't seem much like a question he expected Myungjun to answer. It seemed rhetoric, as if Minhyuk was already aware of the truth.

But how could he be? No one knew of Myungjun's inner dilemma.

No one, except Sanha.

Sanha, who had just spent a night _investigating_ with Minhyuk.

Still, Myungjun believed he might just be paranoid. Sanha had _promised_ not to tell a soul, and that would have included Minhyuk.

So Myungjun lied to Minhyuk, as he lied to everyone else. “I just haven't been feeling well recently,” he assured. “All of us will start coming again shortly, I promise.”

Minhyuk clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I have a theory,” he stated.

“A theory?”

Minhyuk nodded. “About who the killer is.”

The change of subject was interesting, and Myungjun was definitely curious to know what Minhyuk had come up with. He leaned in closer and murmured, “Who do you think?”

However, Minhyuk didn't answer right away. He bit his lip, clearly in thought, then asked, “Don't take this the wrong way, but what was your mom doing that night?”

Myungjun continued to stare at him. His grip on his books tightened, and he held them closer to his chest. “My...my mom?”

Minhyuk nodded. “Yeah. What was she doing that night?”

Instantly, Myungjun knew where this was going to go. He suspected that Sanha had said something, either about his mother's drug habits or her alcoholism or just her downright shitty state, in general. Sanha had _promised_ , though, not to say a word, and so Myungjun decided he might just go along with whatever Minhyuk was saying. He desperately wanted to give Sanha the benefit of the doubt. “She was sleeping,” he answered, snapping out his response. “What's it to you?”

Minhyuk wasn't thrown off by Myungjun's aggressive defense. He simply continued, “Sanha and I were talking last night, and he mentioned, um...something you found in your mom's drawer. And Sanha said it had been bugging him since then, but he finally realized that he smelled drugs the night he died.”

So Sanha _had_ told. Myungjun had been so certain that he wouldn't, and so he shot the boy a glare, feeling anger now rise up to replace his previous guilt. “Sanha shouldn't be spreading around fucking lies like that,” he complained, and he tried to push past Minhyuk. However, Minhyuk stopped him, holding an arm out and causing Myungjun to stumble backwards.

He looked up again. Sanha kept his eyes lowered at the ground, biting harshly at his lip and squeezing his hands into fists. Myungjun hoped the boy felt guilt. Myungjun hoped it was eating at him.

“We're just trying to figure things out,” Minhyuk said, causing Myungjun's attention to snap back to him. “It's possible – not _certain_ , but possible – that your mom might have killed Sanha.”

“What?”

He hadn't expected Minhyuk to so boldly declare such a lie. It hurt Myungjun, too, hitting him straight in his heart, knowing that someone he considered a friend might assume his mother was a murderer.

Minhyuk mistook his anguish as curiosity, and he explained, “Just...just think about it, okay? A lot of times, ghosts actually can remember certain things that happened around the time of their passing. Sights, sounds, _smells_. Sanha distinctly remembered a strange smell, and he said that the bag in your mom's drawer was familiar to him, despite never having smelled it in life. After a lot of jogging his memory, we finally figured out he smelled it as he passed. There's nowhere else he had smelled it, and he vaguely remembers it on that night.”

Myungjun just listened, his anger growing more and more with each passing second. Sanha truly thought his mother was a murderer? Sanha was willing to give out information like that so willingly? It was an absolute betrayal of trust, and Myungjun had to struggle to even control his breathing.

“You're a fucking asshole,” he snapped, mostly to Minhyuk but also to Sanha. He glanced at the ghost, who winced and drew in on himself, and then turned his attention back to Minhyuk. He could see other students glancing over, drawn by the bitter tone in Myungjun's voice. He saw Jinwoo, too, no doubt having come to greet him, stop in his tracks. A few of Minhyuk's fellow soccer players were also watching on.

Usually, with a crowd such as this, Myungjun chose to duck his head and say nothing. He hated drawing such attention to himself. Now, however, he didn't care who was watching. All he cared about was ensuring that Minhyuk stop believing such a nonsensical idea.

“You really think _my mom_ did it? Fuck _you_ , Minhyuk! And fuck Sanha, too, for saying shit like that.”

Minhyuk was much more calm than Myungjun. “I never said I think that. I just said it's poss-”

He wasn't able to continue speaking, however, because Myungjun grabbed him and shoved him up against the lockers. He heard Sanha gasp, and he heard several students suddenly start talking, alarmed with his actions.

He gripped tightly onto Minhyuk's shirt, fingers digging into the boy's skin. “You shut your mouth!” he exclaimed, shaking him. “Don't you fucking _dare_ bring up my mom like that ever again, do you hear me? Don't you _dare!_ ”

Minhyuk looked frightened, but it was nothing compared to the fright that overtook his face when a hand suddenly grabbed onto Myungjun's arm and yanked him backwards. Myungjun released Minhyuk and stumbled for a second before catching his footing.

The moment he glanced up, he was hit. Someone punched him, right in the face, and staggered slightly, pain coursing through his nose and cheeks. His ears rung and his vision was blurry. He cupped at the new bruise that would be forming, and through the tears in his eyes, he glanced up.

One of the soccer players was standing before him, fussing at him, scolding him, but the words seemed slurred together. All Myungjun could really detect was something that sounded similar to, “Leave your disgusting hands off of him, you fag!” It took Myungjun a few seconds before his hearing fully came back to him, but by that time, it was too late. The boy punched him again, and he probably would have continued had a newcomer joined into the fray.

Jinwoo, now, was nearby, and he shoved the soccer player off of Myungjun. “All of you, stop!” Jinwoo yelled, his anger mostly directed towards the soccer player. His aura was threatening; for such a small man, he seemed a force to be reckoned with.

Besides that, Minhyuk drew an arm out, too, stopping the soccer player in his tracks. “Knock it off,” the younger boy murmured, and with that, the crowd began to disperse.

Jinwoo, though, stood by Myungjun's side. He squatted down with him, rubbing his back and staying in the hallway, even as the bell rang, even as Minhyuk issued a quick apology and hurried off, even as the ghostly apparition Jinwoo could not see flirted with the idea of staying behind before choosing to run after Minhyuk.

Soon enough, they were all alone, and Myungjun decided that he had hit rock-bottom.

Jinwoo was quiet for a few extra seconds before whispering, “Are you okay?”

Myungjun scoffed. His lips were trembling and his hands were shaking, “Do I _look_ okay?” he asked, glancing up at Jinwoo.

His friend winced. “No. He hit you pretty hard.” Still, Jinwoo didn't leave. He pushed some hair from Myungjun's eyes, his touch soft and gentle. “It...it started with an argument between you and Minhyuk, didn't it? I thought you two were friends.”

Myungjun felt everything bottled up within him. He had to hold it all in, to pretend he wasn't bothered by anything in the slightest. It was how he always had to live, and it was becoming difficult. He needed an outlet. He needed to spill all of his secrets.

And Jinwoo was a third party, someone who was newer to Myungjun's life, someone who had never judged him before and might not judge him now.

“My mom's an alcoholic,” Myungjun muttered, and Jinwoo raised his eyebrows. “And a chain smoker. And...and she has fucking _drugs_ in her drawer. She uses _drugs!_ What the hell did I do to-to deserve all of this shit in my life, Jinwoo?” He was growing desperate, panicked, and he bunched his hair up in his fingers, tugging at it and finally allowing himself to cry. “She never pays me any attention! She's always hungover, or drunk. She-She has all these different men over f-for sex. One of them scares me. And when I-I don't do what she wants, she hits me. My mom fucking _hits me!_ And she doesn't know I'm dating Bin. I think she'd kill me. I'm scared she would. Everyone here knows, though, an-and so they beat me up for being gay. Bin doesn't even know that. I-I can't tell him – he'd go after them, you know? He'd ruin his own life.”

He hardly took a breath. The words kept spilling out of his mouth, regardless of the look of shock on Jinwoo's face. “My house is in ruins, and the neighbor beside me got shot, and now his ghost haunts me. A-And he thinks my mom killed him, because he smelled drugs on the night he died. He got Minhyuk to agree, too – he thinks _my mom_ killed him!” Myungjun glanced over at Jinwoo and sniffled. “I hate her, but she's my _mom!_ She didn't kill anyone, she _wouldn't_ kill him. I just...I hate myself, Jinwoo! I hate my life!”

And then he cried some more. He buried his bruised face into his hands and sobbed. He felt Jinwoo hold onto him, and he leaned against the boy's body, sobbing into his shoulder.

After a few minutes, as Myungjun's tears died down, Jinwoo murmured, “Let's go home.”

Myungjun blinked. “Wha-What?”

Jinwoo helped him to stand, though Myungjun felt wobbly on his feet, and he continued, “My mom will understand. I'll text her and just tell her we need some time off. She'll get it. And we can watch a movie and just relax. You don't need to be here right now.” His voice was deep, yet serene, and he stared at Myungjun with fondness in his eyes. “Okay? Let's go home.”

“But-But what about school? An-And what about _your_ grades?”

Jinwoo scoffed. “I'll be fine. And I _know_ you'll be fine. We can call out sick, or something, and we'll just leave and hang out all day together.” He smiled. He was trustworthy and nice and Myungjun felt instantly drawn towards him. “How about it?”

Normally, Myungjun would reject such a proposal. He liked school. He hated being absent. But now, he _needed_ some time off. School was overwhelming, home was overwhelming, and even being around his usual friends was overwhelming. He needed something new, a change of scenery, someone who understood him.

Jinwoo would help.

So he nodded his head, a little cautious, which caused Jinwoo to grin widely.

“Awesome!” he exclaimed, leading Myungjun down the hallway. “And, Myungjun?”

“Hm?” Myungjun winced suddenly as a hand brushed over his bruise, but Jinwoo didn't hurt him. Jinwoo just sighed and then patted the top of his head.

“Don't worry,” Jinwoo said, “your secrets are safe with me.”

And, for some reason, Myungjun trusted him completely and wholly.

Myungjun trusted Jinwoo with his life.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so next chapter, we might discover more about jinwoo and what his role in this is :O share ur ideas in the comments below!
> 
> or come visit me on either my tumblr ([@vonseal](http://www.vonseal.tumblr.com)) or my twitter ([@nightmjare](http://www.twitter.com/nightmjare))!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> most of you in the previous chapter's comments were correct ;D

Myungjun had visited very few people at their homes in his lifetime. Minhyuk was the only person he could think of, in most recent memory, who had willingly accepted him into his home. Even Bin was unable to do such a thing, given the displeasure his parents had at the mere mention of Myungjun's name.

Minhyuk's home had been nice, just as Minhyuk _had_ been nice, but Myungjun had deluded himself into thinking that Minhyuk was a friend. Clearly, things had turned out differently. Myungjun had just been there to do research; Minhyuk held no deeper feelings toward him.

Jinwoo, on the other hand, was welcoming and excited to have Myungjun in his house. He kept talking about the games he had that they could play, or the movies they could watch. He mentioned that his mother might cook them an entire meal, and if she didn't, they could order takeout from somewhere close by.

It was almost like a real friendship. Myungjun wondered if this _was_ a real friendship.

Jinwoo lived in an apartment building, though one that was far nicer than what Myungjun and his mother had. There were flowers outside the complex, flowers of every color, and a few people milling about waved to Jinwoo and offered him large smiles. He seemed rather popular, and he made certain to address each of the nearby residents by name and introduce Myungjun as, “This is my friend, Myungjun!”

They all gave a start when they saw him. Myungjun wasn't surprised; he did still have a bruised face, and the bags under his eyes were still prominent, and he just looked a mess.

It warmed him, though, to see how tenderly Jinwoo treated him. The younger boy mussed with his hair and fussed over his wrinkled clothes as they walked down the hallway to Jinwoo's door – finally, Jinwoo sighed and shook his head at Myungjun. “It's amazing, because you still look really handsome underneath your chaotic state. You'll have to tell me your secret one day, Myungjun.”

“There is no secret,” Myungjun responded. “And don't try to flatter me. I know I look awful.”

“You look perfectly fine for someone who was just beaten,” Jinwoo said. He didn't mention Myungjun's admissions; he didn't talk about the drugs or the abuse or the bullying or the ghost. He kept silent about all of that, and Myungjun wondered if the entire confession had been a dream. Most anyone else would dwell on all that Myungjun had said, but Jinwoo already shrugged it off as if it was nothing to be concerned about.

Myungjun felt pleased for it, though. He was too ashamed to explain himself. Jinwoo was trustworthy, Myungjun knew that, and Jinwoo would keep his secrets, but the explanation was too difficult. It would be best to keep silent.

Jinwoo opened the door, allowing Myungjun to step in first. The house was clean and neat, and there was already a pair of shoes situated right by the door that Myungjun easily identified as women's shoes. As he took off his own shoes, he whispered, “Jinwoo, is your mom home?”

“Yeah. Don't worry, I texted her to let her know that we were coming!”

Myungjun found it incredible that Jinwoo's mother was seemingly okay with her son skipping out on school just to take a sad friend home. He had never heard of a parent being so willing to help their child do such a thing; but, sure enough, Jinwoo's mother, having heard the front door open, came into view.

She wore jeans and a t-shirt. Her hair was cut short and she had wrinkles around her eyes from years of smiling. She greeted the two boys warmly, though she paid extra attention to Myungjun. “You must be Kim Myungjun!” she exclaimed, gesturing for him to step further into the house. “Jinwoo's already told us a lot about you.”

“O-Oh,” was Myungjun's response, before he remembered his manners. He bowed to her and cleared his throat. “Sorry for, uh, for intruding on you, especially on a school day, Mrs. Park.”

When he looked up, he noticed she had pity in her gaze, though she snapped out of that rather quickly and smiled brightly instead. “Jinwoo, can you please go take him to clean his face up a little bit? And give him some comfortable clothes to change into, so he can get out of his school uniform.”

Jinwoo nodded his head. “Sure, Mom,” he agreed, and he grabbed Myungjun's wrist and dragged him down the hallway, into the last room on the left. He shut the door, allowing them some privacy, and began to rifle through his dresser drawers.

Myungjun glanced around Jinwoo's room. It seemed quite similar to Minhyuk's, though with less posters and more small collectibles. Myungjun smiled when he caught sight of a few cuter action figures stuck up on one of his bookshelves.

“Your room is clean,” he commented, mostly to start some sort of conversation between the two of them.

“You think?” Jinwoo drew back from his dresser, holding some casual clothing. “It's a little cluttered with stuff that Mom says I should get rid of.”

In answer, Myungjun hummed. He picked up a small alpaca figurine and giggled. “I like this one,” he said. “I don't think you should get rid of it.”

He was happy that Jinwoo laughed, but as he set the figure down again, he decided to turn the conversation into something a little deeper. “Your mom says you talk about me a lot.” Jinwoo nodded to Myungjun's statement, so the boy continued, “She looked at me like I was some poor animal you dragged in from outside, though.”

Jinwoo blanched. “Myungjun, that's...that's not-”

“No, it's fine. I mean, I get it.” He pointed up at his own face and scoffed. “I look like I just got out on the losing side of a wrestling match.” Still, he hated the expression in the woman's eyes. He hated knowing that he was such a pathetic human that people just felt bad the moment they looked at him. “Your neighbors, too...they looked at me like that.”

When Jinwoo didn't respond, Myungjun sighed loudly. “You can tell me I'm being silly. I am, aren't I? I'm being silly.”

“No, Myungjun. It's just...” Jinwoo bit his lip, then set the clothes down on the bed. “I know you're older than me, but you're still – _we're_ still kids. And so when people see a high school kid beaten and bruised like you are, it's bound to create some sort of paternal instinct in them stir up. My mom's the same way. She's just worried because you got beat up. That's all.”

Myungjun knew that Jinwoo was speaking the truth. He decided, for the moment, that he would drop it. “Did you want me to change clothes?” he asked.

Jinwoo seemed rather relieved that they weren't continuing on the same subject. He looked far more cheery as he nodded. “”Yeah! Just change into these. You can change in my room, and I'm going to go change in the bathroom. Once you're done, you can come down the hallway again and we can figure out something to do. I have some video games we can play, or maybe we can watch a television show, if you're up for it – anything you'd like, really.”

He moved to leave, but before he could do anything, Myungjun blurted out, “Do you not care about everything I had told you? That...that my life is a shitshow, and my mom is-is doing drugs, and...and _everything?_ ” He found it too difficult to believe that Jinwoo would really turn a blind eye to his terrible life, his life with less-than-legal issues. “And what about the fucking _ghost_ that follows me around – don't you think I'm a nutcase?”

Jinwoo glanced back at him, eyebrows raised. “The ghost isn't here with you now, is it?”

Out of all the questions to be asked, Myungjun hadn't expected that one. He was caught off-guard for a moment, before he stammered out, “N-No. Of course not.”

“Well...” Jinwoo turned around fully, facing Myungjun once again. “I don't know much about ghosts. I don't know if they exist or not. But you seem pretty certain that you're haunted, and I don't peg you as someone who's a liar. As for the stuff with your mom – that's a little disconcerting. I would actually like to talk more about it. Does she really hit you? Does she really hurt you?”

Myungjun hadn't exactly meant to say all that he did. He didn't want his mother in trouble, but now that Jinwoo was aware of his situation, he tried to find some way to quell it. “I don't...want things to get weird,” he mumbled. “I'm almost done with school, and then I'll move out. If...if people like, um, like the police find out about all of this, then my life will just – it'll be a mess, Jinwoo. You understand, right? They'll send me off to a foster home, since I'm not old enough to live by myself at the moment. I might have to switch schools when I'm so close to finishing this school year. I'll leave behind Binnie, and he's the only person in this entire damn world I actually care for. And I know my mom isn't...she's not the best. She sucks, honestly, but she's my _mom_. You get that, right, Jinwoo? You understand?”

Jinwoo's response wasn't as instant as Myungjun would have appreciated. It wasn't exactly as Myungjun had hoped it would be, either. Instead of understanding, Jinwoo shook his head and gave a nervous chuckle. “I'll be perfectly honest, Myungjun: I don't understand your commitment to someone who hurts you.”

“She's _my mom_ ,” Myungjun declared, defensive.

“But she also hits you. Moms aren't supposed to hit you.” Jinwoo didn't dwell on the subject, however. He simply said, “You're smart, though. You have a good sense of character. I trust you to know what's best for yourself. I just think the police need to know everything you've told me.” When Myungjun was silent, Jinwoo took a step closer. “I can help tell, if you want. You wouldn't be alone, Myungjun.”

Myungjun stiffened. “I don't...I don't want to tell,” he murmured. “I can deal with it.”

“Then I'll still stand by your side and support you through it all,” was Jinwoo's promise, before his expression changed again, bright and cheerful and happy. “Now, let's get changed and go figure out something to do! It's not everyday I get to have a good friend over in the middle of a school period, is it?”

He left, and Myungjun was alone for the first time since that morning.

Jinwoo had some form of unwavering loyalty to him. It was so odd, something no one else had. Myungjun was certain, should Bin figure out the same information, that even Bin could not keep everything a secret. Bin's blabbering would stem from a place of concern and worry and love; he would react irrationally and cause more trouble than things were worth.

Despite Jinwoo saying he didn't understand, he _did_. He understood things would be too difficult for Myungjun if word got out of his mother's abuses and drug possession. He understood why Myungjun desired to keep everything secret.

Jinwoo was so trustworthy, and Myungjun found himself trying not to smile as he changed into the clothes he was given and hurried on out to the living room.

They played games until the late afternoon. Myungjun, unused to video game consoles, would have lost every single duel, had Jinwoo not coached him well. Jinwoo even turned on single-player mode and allowed Myungjun to walk through all the tutorials. He never once complained of being bored, or of wanting to have a chance to play. He let Myungjun take his time, to get a feel of how to play these newer games, before hopping onto multiplayer when Myungjun thought he was ready for it.

It was a patience that only Bin had showed him before, and Myungjun felt lighter than he had in years after they finished playing.

Jinwoo made sure to give him a few bandages for his face, too, and some antiseptic to clean the wounds better. He still claimed Myungjun looked amazing, still inquired about a skincare routine, to which Myungjun snorted and playfully shoved at him.

It was more normalcy than Myungjun had felt in his entire life, and as they sat down for dinner with Jinwoo's mom, he knew he was grinning at full-force.

“Is your dad not joining us?” Myungjun asked, admiring the spread of food that lay out before him. He was used to cooking his own food with the limited ingredients his mom picked up from the store, or else using her card to buy take-out for himself. He liked family dinners like this. He also pictured Jinwoo coming from a cute, tight-knit family that enjoyed meals together. He wondered why Jinwoo's father wasn't in the picture.

“He gets off later tonight,” Jinwoo admitted, blowing at some of his food in an effort to cool it down. “We texted him, and he told us to go ahead and eat. I was hungry, anyway – weren't you?”

“Starving,” Myungjun admitted, and he quickly stuffed rice into his mouth, smiling at Jinwoo's mother in appreciation.

She looked at him, then asked, “Myungjun, how is your school life? Jinwoo says you're top of your class.”

It wasn't false, but Myungjun felt it wasn't right to boast about such measures. He ducked his head and shrugged his shoulders. “I just...I like to study,” he said. Studying gave him a chance to get out of his own house, or else to lose his mind in books. Otherwise, he would be plagued with thoughts of how terrible things truly were for him, and he couldn't handle that.

“He's smart _and_ handsome!” Jinwoo's mother teased. “Myungjun, do you have a girlfriend? I'd be shocked if you didn't!”

Myungjun felt his stomach churn. Relationship talk was always a huge _no-no_. He couldn't justify having a boyfriend, especially not to the older generation. If he was ostracized and beaten at school, he just knew it would be ten times worse should Jinwoo's mother know.

Before he could say a word to defend himself, however, Jinwoo broke in. “He's dating the captain of the soccer team! His name is Moon Bin, and he's actually super sweet. He's really dorky, though. Right, Myungjun?”

Myungjun glanced at Jinwoo in horror. Out of everyone to spill the beans, to reveal one of his many secrets, he hadn't expected it to be the man who just swore himself to silence earlier on. He feared the worst from Jinwoo's mother, but when he peeked over at her, she only seemed confused. “A...boy?” she asked.

Jinwoo nodded, unconcerned with the current turn of events, and Myungjun just gripped at his chopsticks, frozen where he sat.

“Oh,” said Jinwoo's mom, and before Myungjun could dwell on what that meant, she continued, “Myungjun, darling, does he make you happy?”

Jinwoo wasn't answering this question, and so Myungjun, wanting to try and direct attention elsewhere, mumbled, “He, um, he does, but so does studying. And I'm studying a lot of great stuff right now, and I think I know where I want to go to college-”

“I'm becoming friends with Bin, too!” Jinwoo exclaimed, interrupting Myungjun's rambling. “I'll invite both he and Myungjun over next time. Would that be okay, Mom?”

She didn't hesitate this time. She nodded her head with enthusiasm. “If he makes Myungjun happy, then definitely! I'd like to meet him, too. He must be very special to you, Myungjun!”

It was quite a different response from what Myungjun was used to. He had come out, and yet there were no scathing remarks or judgmental looks. Jinwoo's mother had accepted him, and it was such a welcoming feeling that Myungjun couldn't help the smile that overcame his face. “He...he is! I'd like for you to meet him – I promise, he's super polite and very nice.”

Jinwoo agreed with him, nodding his head, but no further words could be said. Myungjun heard the front door opening, and a voice called out a greeting. Jinwoo's mother answered, love and warmth overcoming her tone, and Myungjun realized that it must be Jinwoo's father.

He heard footsteps, and so he stood from his seat, ready to greet the man. Beside him, though, Jinwoo suddenly looked fearful, and he, too, darted up out of his seat. “Myungjun-” Jinwoo started.

And then the man walked into the room.

It was Officer Park.

Officer Park seemed just as surprised to see Myungjun, as Myungjun was to see him. They stared at each other for a few seconds before Officer Park asked, “We have, um, company?”

“You weren't supposed to be home this early, Dad,” Jinwoo snapped, and he turned to Myungjun. “H-Hey, Myungjun, why don't we take this food to my room and keep eating, alright?”

Myungjun could detect a nervous sort of regret in Jinwoo's voice. It was as if he was trying to hide from Myungjun the fact that his father was a police officer.

Or maybe he was trying to hide the fact that his father was working on the Yoon Sanha case.

Or maybe he was trying to hide the fact that his father probably knew everything about Myungjun, everything only Jinwoo had been privy to.

Myungjun glanced over at the boy he had called his friend, his eyes wide. “Your dad is a policeman?” he asked.

Jinwoo simply swallowed thickly. The question had been rhetorical, anyway; Myungjun could see the uniform, clear as day.

He looked back at Officer Park, who seemed just as uncomfortable with the situation. “Myungjun!” he greeted, for lack of anything else to say, probably. “It's...it's nice to see you again. You, um, you look well.”

Myungjun, with bandages and bruises on his pale, tired face, simply scoffed. He repeated himself again, hands clenched into fists by his side. “Your dad is Officer Park?”

Things suddenly made sense. Jinwoo hadn't appeared into his life until after Myungjun had spoken with Officer Park. Jinwoo had made every effort to be close to Myungjun as often as possible. Jinwoo had done something no one else could, had caused Myungjun to confess every stupid thing to him. Jinwoo had invited him into his home and had asked even more questions.

Jinwoo was the pawn of his father.

Jinwoo used him.

Myungjun's heart felt like it had shattered in his chest. His sight was blurry; he knew his eyes were welling up with tears. He felt horrible, pathetic, betrayed.

Jinwoo reached out and touched him gently, splaying a hand out across his back. “Myungjun?” he murmured. “Are you okay?”

Jinwoo could probably see the tears welling up in Myungjun's eyes, if his look of worry was anything to go by. He managed to snap Myungjun out of his state, however, managed to earn himself a push and a shove. Jinwoo stumbled backwards and Myungjun stepped away from the entire family.

“I...I'm going home,” he stammered. He ignored the pity from Jinwoo's mother, the concern from Jinwoo's father, and the look of pain from Jinwoo himself. He pointed a finger at his friend – his _fake_ friend – and warned, “Don't you dare fucking talk to me ever again.”

Jinwoo tried to stop him as he snatched up his bag, but Myungjun ignored his voice. Myungjun hurried out of the apartment before the tears finally caught up to him, before he finally began to bawl as he rushed down the long, winding staircase.

The bruises that littered his face no longer hurt. Jinwoo's betrayal, however, cut Myungjun deep to the core and was far more excruciating than any physical pain would ever be.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> each chapter from here on out, until about chapter 18 or 19, gets worse so pls be prepared yall. :D
> 
> come visit me on either my tumblr ([@vonseal](http://www.vonseal.tumblr.com)) or my twitter ([@nightmjare](http://www.twitter.com/nightmjare))!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry im a bit late with this update!

Myungjun heard Jinwoo's voice calling after him, telling him to slow down, yet he refused. He continued down the sidewalk, stumbling along and stifling his sobs.

Jinwoo had lied to him. Myungjun didn't want to give him the time of day; Myungjun was fully prepared to _not_ give him the time of day, to ignore him completely for the rest of their lives, and yet he was unable to. Jinwoo was faster than Myungjun was, and _his_ vision wasn't obscured by tears. He easily caught up to Myungjun and grabbed onto his arm, holding him back.

“Let _go_ of me!” Myungjun snapped, trying to tug himself free.

Jinwoo refused. “Let me explain-”

“You have nothing to explain. I already get it.” Myungjun glanced back, glowering at Jinwoo with watery eyes. The boy looked a little guilty, a little regretful, but Myungjun thought he deserved to look such a way. “Your dad wanted to keep an eye on me, so he asked you to do it. It was a _perfect_ choice – you played the part of a friend, and you were able to spill all my secrets to your fucking dad.” He sniffed and, with his free hand, rubbed at his nose. “Are you going to tell him everything I've told you today? I wouldn't put it past a scumbag like you.”

Jinwoo shook his head and retorted, “Myungjun, I _swear_ , that wasn't it at all! Look...look, it did all start because of my dad-”

“Of course.”

“But he never wanted me to _spy_ on you! He already knew your life sucked. He told me, Myungjun, about your lifestyle. He had gone to your house and seen it all.”

So Jinwoo already knew. He just played dumb, then, and so Myungjun felt even more frustrated. No wonder he hadn't said much when Myungjun had rambled about his life – he _knew_. “You just let me be a fool, then, didn't you?”

“My dad wanted you to have a friend. That was it.” Jinwoo seemed genuine as he spoke.

Then again, he had seemed genuine when he had been tricking Myungjun into befriending him. Myungjun knew better than to trust someone like Jinwoo.

“Let go of me,” he snapped again, but Jinwoo still didn't listen.

“My dad saw how you were treated at home, and he asked, since we go to the same school, if I knew you, or if I knew anything about you. I told him I'd seen you before, and he asked if I could just stick by your side, be someone you could lean on if times got tough. So, yes, Myungjun, I originally did this because of my dad, but I _swear_ I didn't keep it up just because of him. I honestly enjoy your company! I-I like hanging around you. We _are_ friends now, not fake friends because of my dad, but _real_ friends. Aren't we?”

Myungjun wanted to believe Jinwoo. The boy before him _had_ been his friend. He had been someone Myungjun relied on, cherished, and cared for. He had been someone who was there, no matter the situation. Though they had only known each other for a short time, Jinwoo had easily earned the rank of _Best Friend_ , just lower than Bin if only because of the lack of romantic attraction.

However, he had been fake. At least for the first part of their friendship, he had simply pretended to like Myungjun. It explained why he suddenly appeared, suddenly acted friendly, with no sort of prompting. He had just been following the demands of his father.

Perhaps he had decided he liked their relationship somewhere along the way – but it had been built on lies, and Myungjun refused to partake in something that was a sham from the beginning.

“We're not _real_ friends,” he assures Jinwoo, finally snatching his arm away from the boy's grasp. “Do you know why? Because _real_ friends would never lie to each other the way you've lied to me. _Real_ friends wouldn't approach someone just because their dad asks them to. And _real_ friends wouldn't keep quiet about all this shit for so long. You would've just continued to lie to me, wouldn't you?”

“I never lied!”

“You befriended me because your dad _said_ to!” Myungjun exclaimed. He felt hysteric suddenly, panicked, upset and distraught. “All of this – all that we shared-” He gestured frantically at the empty space between them. “-all of _this_ was a fucking lie! You just _used_ me, Jinwoo, to get on your dad's good side, to get information out of me!”

Jinwoo shook his head and swallowed thickly. “I didn't get any information out of you.”

“I _told_ you all that bullshit that happened with me! You saw me get beat up, a-and your dad fucking _knows_ about my mom and how shitty she is, how she hits me and smokes and drinks! He's seen the inside of the hellhole I live in. You know about Sanha, a-about the ghost and – _christ_ , about the _drugs_ , and you claim that you're innocent?” Myungjun wiped at his face, at the angry tears still rolling down his cheeks, and exclaimed, “Leave me _alone_ , Jinwoo!”

“Myungjun-”

“Don't you _ever_ speak to me again, okay? Don't you approach me again, don't you _look_ at me again!”

Part of him felt wronged, but the other part, he realized, felt utterly humiliated. Jinwoo had seen him at his lowest point. He had seen a side of him that no one ever had before; not even Bin, the closest person Myungjun had in his life. Jinwoo knew things about him, too, that Myungjun had long since kept secret, and yet all it took was a comforting body by his side to release all of those secrets.

Jinwoo _had_ used him, despite his claims he hadn't. Otherwise, Jinwoo would have told him earlier who his father was, explained to him of his father's intent and desires, and he would have let Myungjun decide then if they should be friends.

Somewhere, though, in the back of his mind, he remembered how kind Jinwoo had been to him. He remembered the genuine look in Jinwoo's eyes, the sincerity that shone through, and he wondered if someone who was lying could really play that good of an actor.

Jinwoo had done things that he needn't do, as well. He didn't have to bring Myungjun over to his house to care for him after he was beaten, and he didn't have to share everything he owned with Myungjun. Just a few hours earlier, they played video games together, laughing and talking and acting as true friends should.

Myungjun found it difficult to believe that it was all an act.

Yet, the overwhelming majority of his brain, of all his thoughts and emotions, reminded him that Jinwoo was no longer trustworthy. If he held within him such a large secret of his parentage, of his policeman father, then surely he was hiding other stuff.

Myungjun couldn't continue to delude himself into thinking Jinwoo would have his best interests at heart. It was all for the case; or, yet, all to make Officer Park and Jinwoo feel good about themselves.

So Myungjun took a step back and choked out, “I hate you, Jinwoo.”

The pain and regret in Jinwoo's gaze seemed too real, and Myungjun had to spin around suddenly to get away from it.

Jinwoo didn't follow him this time, as Myungjun walked home. He seemed to understand the severity of the situation, seemed to understand that Myungjun wanted nothing more to do with him.

Myungjun wished Jinwoo _had_ fought back, however. Even if Myungjun didn't want to accept him back, he wanted Jinwoo to prove his friendship.

It was such a gross desire, such a pathetic state of being, and Myungjun felt sickened with himself. He sobbed from time to time, his body rising and falling with his tears as he took heavy steps down the street, arms wrapped around himself and vision blurry.

He lost everyone, it seemed. Sanha was stuck now with Minhyuk, and Minhyuk was apt to ignore Myungjun for the rest of his life. Perhaps they were trying to figure out Sanha's death together. Myungjun was excluded from the equation, regardless. He had no more stake on whether Sanha stayed or ascended. Jinwoo, too, would now be absent from Myungjun's life, and the thought left a gaping hole in his heart. He had _liked_ Jinwoo, and yet-

Well, he liked Sanha, too, and he found himself growing fond of Minhyuk.

Only Bin was left. Things were back to normal, back to how they were before Sanha's murder, but Myungjun didn't feel at all pleased with the situation. He _thought_ he had friends, people who cared for him, but he had been mistaken the entire time.

He saw in his apartment complex come into view, and he sighed heavily as he wiped the tears from his face. He knew he must look a sight, and he only prayed his mother wouldn't ask any questions. He doubted she would; it wasn't like her to take sudden interest in his life.

As he neared his unit, however, he noticed a man standing right outside of it, smoking a cigarette and staring down at a phone that illuminated his face in the evening sky. He glanced up when he heard Myungjun's footsteps, and his entire face brightened.

“Hey, kid,” he greeted, pocketing his phone and taking his cigarette from his mouth.

Myungjun ignored him. He wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone, lest of all his mother's boyfriend. Naesang was overly interested on his life, which seemed a more recent development, and he truly did make Myungjun nervous.

“Your mom isn't home,” Naesang said when Myungjun jiggled at the doorknob. “It's locked. I've tried getting in.”

“That's called breaking and entering,” Myungjun snapped. He took out his keys and unlocked his apartment.

Almost instantly, Naesang was hovering over him, trying to step inside the opened door. “It's not breaking and entering when your mother invites me over,” he responded. He stunk like cigarettes and alcohol, and Myungjun stepped inside but then held his spot just beyond the doorway, ensuring that Naesang couldn't follow him. The man looked exasperated, and he groaned, “Myungjun, what the hell are you doing?”

Myungjun grit his teeth down, grinding them slightly before saying, “You can't come inside. Not without my mom home.”

“I come inside all the time.” Naesang pushed at the door ever so lightly, but Myungjun held it firmly in place, refusing to give in. He didn't like any of his mother's boyfriends hanging out at the apartment. It was bad enough when his mother was there with him, but when she was absent, it just became _weird_. Myungjun was aware that most of them meant no harm, but their presence made him nervous and uncomfortable. They would sit in the living room, ask him where his mother was, and look desperately at the front door in wait for her.

Myungjun was no fool; he _knew_ what went on behind the closed bedroom doors the moment she would arrive home. He had known from a young age, an early age. He simply preferred it not happen consistently, and Naesang was always consistent.

“Wouldn't you rather wait out here for her, anyway?” he questioned. “Why the fuck do you want to come inside? It's messy.”

“It's not a grand mansion out here, either, Myungjun.” Naesang rolled his eyes. “You're being a brat, kid. Let me in.”

In response, Myungjun closed the door, and before Naesang even had the chance to object, Myungjun locked it from the inside and took a step back with a deep breath.

The man knocked – once, twice, thrice, eleven times – and asked, “What do you think you're even _doing_ , Myungjun? You know me! Just let me in, I just want to make some tea and watch television while waiting for her! Come _on_ – do you really want me to tell her that you've been a complete asshole to me? Is that it?”

It was hard to tune him out. Naesang seemed to be consistent with begging, as well, and Myungjun simply took up a seat on the couch, knees drawn up to his chest and arms wrapped around them, trying to drown out Naesang's words. He stared over at the messy coffee table, at the cigarette butts in ashtrays and the empty beer bottles laid out in various positions, and he wondered why he was cursed with such a life. Why did _he_ have to grow up like this? He thought of Jinwoo, of the loving home he lived in, and he felt envy fill his heart.

He liked to imagine himself as strong sometimes, because surely it took strength to get through everything life threw at him without completely giving up. He wondered how many others could live the lifestyle Myungjun was brought into. He wondered how many others would take the beatings at home and the bullying at school. He wondered how many others would meticulously wash their clothes to rid the smell of cigarette smoke. He wondered how many others would juggle a ghostly, murdered neighbor, a secret boyfriend left in the dark, a boy who accused his mother of being a killer, and a friend who had strung him along and lied to him.

He wondered if perhaps only he was cursed because only he was considered strong enough to handle the curse.

He tried to remind himself of his strength, and of how little time he had left at his mother's house before he could go off to college, but it did little to quell his tears. They came again, filling up in his gaze before collecting and cascading down his cheeks. He trembled while he sat on the couch, quietly sniffling to himself.

Naesang had grown quiet after a while. Myungjun didn't know whether or not the man had left, but he found he didn't care too much. Regardless, Naesang was stuck out there, and Myungjun was stuck inside. He needn't worry about anything until his mom came home.

And, before she could do that, he retreated to his bedroom.

He knew he ought to study, but as he flipped through his textbook, his mind couldn't stay focused. It strayed instead back to Jinwoo, back to the guilt that lay all over his face, back to the friendship that seemed so real and true.

He slammed the book shut and fell over onto his pillow, biting down harshly at his lip to keep from crying anymore. He had cried enough in the past few days. He was a child, a toddler, allowing all of this to affect him so heavily. He needed to close himself off to the world, as he had before he met Sanha, and pretend nothing ever bothered him.

While lost in such thoughts and decisions, he must have fallen asleep, for when he opened his eyes again, the clock on his bedside table portrayed the numbers 2:35AM. Myungjun groaned and ran his fingers through messy hair before sitting up in bed and moving his textbook and papers aside. He had done nothing of importance at all in the previous hours; he lost Sanha and Minhyuk as friends, he got beat up by some kid, he was betrayed by Jinwoo.

No studying, no schoolwork, no _Bin_ , nothing that gave him comfort and stability in life had been achieved.

He stood up, a bit wobbly on his feet, and exited his bedroom, intent on using the bathroom and then heading right back to sleep. He would figure things out when he woke again. Things would be fine if he _made_ them fine.

However, before he could open the door to the bathroom, Myungjun noticed a figure standing in the hallway.

Bathed by the dim light protruding from the television, Myungjun could just barely make out Naesang. The man lingered in the hallway, and Myungjun detected a grin on his face. “Hey, Myungjun,” he greeted.

Myungjun didn't respond.

“That was a dick move, you know, leaving me outside.”

“And, yet, you survived,” Myungjun scoffed as he opened the bathroom door.

He didn't get a chance to head inside the bathroom, though, for Naesang suddenly moved beside him and pushed Myungjun aside before slamming the door shut. “Don't keep running from me,” the man scolded. “That's all you've done since we've met. I'd like to get to know you, Myungjun. Perhaps, then, you'll stop treating me like trash.”

Myungjun had many responses to that; Naesang _was_ trash, Myungjun didn't want to get to know one of his mother's many boyfriends, and he _really_ did have to pee. But none of the words escaped his mouth, for Naesang was still grinning and staring at Myungjun with such a predatory expression. It was difficult for Myungjun to say anything when he suddenly felt fear overwhelm him.

“Why do you hate me so much?” Naesang asked. “Is there a reason for it? Is it because I fuck your mother – do you hate any man that comes over, then?”

“Leave-leave me alone,” Myungjun stammered. He decided to head back to his room instead, but Naesang grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back. “Stop it!” Myungjun screeched, flailing to get away, but Naesang held onto him tightly.

“I'm not finished, Myungjun,” he snapped.

Nothing else could be said between the two of them, however. The door across the hall opened, and out stepped Myungjun's mother. She wore a robe and had dark circles under her eyes and, Myungjun noticed painfully, she smelled like the drugs he had found in her bedside drawer. Still, he had never been more happy to see his mother. Once she appeared, Naesang released Myungjun, letting him scramble away.

“Naesang?” Myungjun's mother glanced at Myungjun, then back at her boyfriend. “Is...is everything alright?”

Naesang frowned and hurried over to her. “I thought you were staying in bed.”

She shook her head. “I heard you two arguing. Myungjun, stop causing trouble for poor Naesang and just go back to sleep.” She grabbed Naesang and pulled him back into her bedroom – not before he gave Myungjun one last glance and grinned.

With the door shut and Naesang gone, Myungjun took a deep, shaky breath and put a hand up to his heart. It was beating wildly, erratically, and he couldn't help the fear that still settled and remained in his chest.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not through the worst yet
> 
> come visit me on either my tumblr ([@vonseal](http://www.vonseal.tumblr.com)) or my twitter ([@nightmjare](http://www.twitter.com/nightmjare))!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updating a little quickly for you guys bc i love you <3

He saw Sanha again at the end of the next day, standing by his locker and looking very much worried. So much so, in fact, that he let one or two people lean right into him – something he never did, as it solidified, in his mind, his ghostly status. Myungjun regarded him with a weary gaze, and then stepped forward, pretending as if Sanha didn't even exist.

By all accounts, he _shouldn't_ exist, anyway.

“Myungjun,” Sanha greeted, gnawing at his bottom lip. “Um...d-did you sleep well?”

Myungjun rolled his eyes in exasperation. He never slept well these days, and Sanha was well aware of that. He understood the boy was trying to be pleasant, but for what purpose? For what gain?

“Myungjun,” Sanha repeated. He poked Myungjun this time. “I-I know you can see me. And...and I know you're mad at me. You should be. But can-can we please talk? I just...I need to tell you some stuff.”

Even his voice seemed apologetic, but Myungjun didn't know how he could forgive Sanha. He didn't forgive Jinwoo just yesterday – he _shouldn't_ forgive Sanha.

But Jinwoo was someone who had lied to Myungjun for their entire period of friendship. Sanha was someone who probably just told one of Myungjun's secrets without thinking, just talking in order to establish who murdered him. If he ought to be mad at anyone, he should be mad at _Minhyuk_.

Besides that, he desperately needed a friend. Bin was great, but Bin was unaware of what all Myungjun truly went through. He needed someone who had been sticking by his side through thick and thin, and only Sanha had.

So, without saying a single word, he grabbed onto Sanha's wrist and dragged him down the hallway. He heard the boy talking the entire time, stammering out apologies, but Myungjun didn't listen, not until they were safely within the confines of one of the restrooms. He kept his back pressed up against the door, ensuring no one else would enter, then turned his glare onto Sanha.

“So,” he said, and he was shocked that his voice didn't hold the trace of venom he longed for it to. He sounded desperate and unsure, instead, and he inwardly cursed himself for being so weak and giving in so quickly. “You're _sorry?_ ”

“I really am,” Sanha admitted. “I didn't mean to tell Minhyuk everything. It just...it just came out when I was trying to remember why that smell was so familiar. It hit me suddenly, and Minhyuk said...he asked me about your mom. He said it was solely for the investigation, and I-I didn't know he was going to confront you about it.”

Myungjun grit his teeth and stared down at the floor. He hated people now knowing about his life; Minhyuk knew, Sanha knew, and Jinwoo knew. He had kept it hidden for so long, and one mistake caused all of his careful secrets to come spilling out. “I...I had assumed you wouldn't tell a single soul,” Myungjun said. “That's what I had asked, right? I asked for you not to say anything.”

“I know, but...but, Myungjun, I'm tired of being a ghost.” Sanha looked so pitiful, so distraught, and so Myungjun listened to him. “The more time I spend with Minhyuk, the...the more I fall in love with him. And I _can't_ fall in love with him, you know? I can't do it, because he's a human and I'm a ghost and that won't work, but I can't help my feelings. So I want to pass on as quick as possible, because then...then maybe we won't fall too hard for each other.”

Sanha had valid concerns. He was young, too, young and unsure and afraid and _dead_. Clearly he was willing to do whatever it took to ascend and lose his ghostly persona.

So Myungjun nodded his head and, with a large sigh, he murmured, “I understand.”

“Really?” Sanha looked up, shocked and hopeful.

“Yeah,” Myungjun replied. He pushed himself off the door and shrugged his shoulders. “It's...it's been a bad week, I think, for the both of us. A bad couple of weeks. Just a bad year, in general, maybe. But I want you to ascend to, and even if...even if you guys consider my mom – I mean, she didn't do it, though. I swear.”

“It's okay. I believe you.” Sanha smiled, clearly relieved he was no longer being ignored, then tugged on Myungjun's sleeve. “Come with me to Minhyuk's place, though. He wanted to apologize for confronting you, as well, and we also want to show you how much we've discovered about ghosts! Maybe if everyone is there again, we can talk things through and figure something else out about my death.”

He didn't really have an excuse for not showing up. If he was to be friends with Sanha again, that would entail having to work alongside Minhyuk. It was necessary for Sanha to depart from his ghostly body, and so Myungjun decided his only choice would be to go over and behave the best he possibly could.

“Alright,” he mumbled, and Sanha grinned widely. “Only for a bit, though. Let me text Binnie and Dongmin and I guess we'll head over there in a few minutes.”

He was extremely thankful that he had forgiven Sanha, because he realized just how much he needed human companionship at the moment. With Jinwoo now gone from his life and things becoming even worse for him at home, he wanted somewhere to escape. Minhyuk's apartment, with all of its books on ghosts and normalcy and lack of back-stabbing, was a perfect choice for that.

He sat next to Bin, flipping through books together, occasionally asking Dongmin for his opinion. Myungjun didn't speak much to Minhyuk, however; aside from a quick greeting, neither boy really made an attempt to talk to the other.

Unfortunately, that made Sanha a little upset. He seemed to want the two of them to get along, if his frantic glances toward Myungjun and shoves toward Minhyuk were anything to go by. When nobody responded to his subtle moves, he finally blurted out, “Myungjun, Minhyuk wants to apologize for confronting you in the hallway.”

Myungjun glanced over at Minhyuk, who cleared his throat and tried to hide his face, but nothing was said, still. Not between the two of them. Myungjun simply mumbled, "Then he can apologize to me himself for the confrontation."

Bin broke in and asked, “What confrontation?”

It was one thing for Minhyuk to know about Myungjun's life. It was another thing for Bin to know about it. Myungjun had kept everything secret from Bin for such a long time, and he would be damned if it was all given up now.

So he shrugged his shoulders and mumbled, “Minhyuk was just being an asshole.”

“I wasn't. I was trying to consider all possibilities,” Minhyuk retorted. “Sanha said he smelled weed-”

“Minhyuk, shut _up_ ,” Myungjun hissed.

Minhyuk took a deep breath and went back down to his book, but his silence did nothing to quell Bin's curiosity. “Weed?” the boy asked, glancing over at Myungjun. “Sanha smelled _weed?_ ”

“Bin, honestly, it's nothing,” Myungjun assured him.

Bin pursed his lips. “Well, it looks like everyone knows but _me_ ,” he complained (and he ignored Dongmin's small statement of, “I don't.”).

It was difficult for Myungjun to think of a way to discourage Bin from asking anymore questions. Bin was, honestly, correct; most people in the room _did_ know what Minhyuk was talking about. Bin and Dongmin were the only two people who were not privy to this sort of inside information. Myungjun could only imagine that Bin must feel left out, maybe lonely, if people other than him were aware of what happened.

He bit down on his lip harshly before tossing a glare over to Minhyuk, who simply raised his eyebrows and awaited Myungjun's next move.

“Minhyuk...Minhyuk was trying to figure out who the killer was,” Myungjun stammered, “and he put together a list of people who would've been around at the time of the murder, so...I guess he put my mom in that list, too, just...just to make things fair.”

Normally, Bin believed whatever it was Myungjun told him. He hardly asked an abundance of questions, far more content to just trust Myungjun's words. This time, however, Minhyuk snorted and Bin caught on quickly to the lie. “Why did Minhyuk mention _weed_ , though? What does that have to do with your mom?”

Myungjun was stuck, and he knew it. Dongmin was staring at him, too, awaiting an answer, and Myungjun cursed himself for ever arriving at Minhyuk's place. “It...um...” He tried to stall, to think of a lie, but nothing good came to the forefront of his brain. He had to tell the truth, so he sighed and mumbled, “Sanha smelled weed, um, the night he died, and...I-I learned my mom, uh, has weed.”

“Your mom has _weed?_ ” Bin looked shocked and horrified. “Have you told the police?”

“Of course not, Binnie, she's my _mom!_ Look, it's probably all just a big misunderstanding – there's no way she killed Sanha, anyway. My mom isn't a murderer.”

Minhyuk, sitting up against his bed, spoke again. “That's not the only reason we assumed your mom was a murderer, and you know it, Myungjun.”

“Minhyuk, I said to shut _up!_ ”

“No.” Minhyuk returned Myungjun's glare. Myungjun could see one hand was intertwined with Sanha's, who looked extremely uncomfortable with how the situation was now unfolding. “Sanha told me that Bin doesn't know any of this shit you're keeping from him, like how your mom is an alcoholic, or a chronic smoker, or how she beats you. Bin ought to know, if the rest of us do.”

“She _beats_ you?” Bin gasped. “Myungjun, your mom fucking _beats_ you?”

Myungjun felt stuck and panicked. Now, more than just a few people knew. Now, even _Dongmin_ knew about Myungjun's secrets. He looked equally as disgusted as Bin did, and Myungjun clenched his hands into fists. “She...she _doesn't_ ,” he snapped, though his words were aimed at Minhyuk. “You don't know _shit_ , Minhyuk. My mom isn't a murderer, okay? She _couldn't_ have been a murderer – she was asleep the entire time in our apartment!”

“Myungjun, does she really beat you?” Bin was still going, still talking, but Myungjun felt as if he couldn't deal with Bin for the moment. He was far more concerned with defending his mother against Minhyuk's judgmental words.

Even Dongmin apparently felt the need to interject, and he said, “Minhyuk might be right. If he's telling the truth, if your mom _does_ hit you, Myungjun, if she beats her own child, then she probably wouldn't bat an eye at committing murder against some other kid.”

“She _didn't!_ ” Myungjun yelled, and it caused Bin to finally quiet down, though he stared over at Myungjun with wide eyes and a concerned gaze. “Look, I'm fine, okay? I'm not ever hurt – my mom is _not_ a murderer though. I can swear to you, she was home the entire time.”

He would deal with Bin's new knowledge later on; for the moment, he needed to defend his poor mother's honor just to ensure no one truly viewed her as a murder, or a monster, or anything that she wasn't. Besides, she had been rather kind to him recently. She had kept Naesang off his back, popping up whenever the man was alone with Myungjun, as if she knew Myungjun felt too nervous around him. She was still his mother, regardless of how he was treated at her hands, and he still loved her.

“You wouldn't know how long she was home for,” Minhyuk pointed out. “And, besides, you might not have heard your front door open and close. Maybe she sneaked out and killed Sanha sometime during the night.”

“That doesn't make any fucking sense, you asshole,” Myungjun snapped at him. “She had no reason to murder Sanha! And she _wouldn't_ have murdered Sanha.”

“Sanha also said the two of you don't talk often. If she did have reason to hate him, would you even know?”

He didn't understand why Minhyuk was now suddenly against him again. Sanha at his side even seemed to be uncomfortable with the situation, tugging at Minhyuk's arm and whispering for him to stay silent. But accusing his mom for something Myungjun _knew_ she would never have done was too much for him, and Myungjun couldn't take it. He couldn't take Dongmin's morbid interest or Bin's fear or Minhyuk's smug attitude.

“She _didn't_ , because she was asleep the entire time, and it was two men who killed Sanha, anyway, _not_ my mom. I didn't hear any female voices from his apartment the night he died; I only heard two _male_ voices, which instantly rules out my mom.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, challenging Minhyuk to say something else, but then he noticed Sanha's expression change. The boy went from looking incredibly awkward to suddenly appearing deep in thought, eyebrows knitted downwards and lips turned into a frown.

“That...that doesn't make sense,” Sanha mumbled.

“How does it not make sense?” Myungjun asked, but Sanha didn't answer it for him. Instead, it was Dongmin who broke into the fray, clearing his throat to gather attention.

“I thought we established, in the official police report and your interview with a cop, Myungjun, that you didn't hear anything until the gunshot. You told them – you told _us_ – that all you remembered was waking up to a gunshot.”

No wonder Sanha looked upset suddenly, and no wonder everyone in the room was staring at Myungjun with such accusing gazes.

Myungjun had been so angry about Minhyuk and Sanha revealing his own secrets that he had inadvertently given one away. He had given an _important_ one away, too, one that would definitely peg him as nothing but a liar.

“You to-told me that you didn't hear anything,” Sanha stammered out. Myungjun glanced at him, detecting the tone of betrayal. He felt frozen, too scared to say anything else lest he reveal anymore secrets, and so Sanha decided to continue talking. “You told the _police_ you heard nothing. We-We didn't even know where to start because you had no leads, and...you've known, this entire time, that I was killed by _two_ men? Did you really keep it quiet this _entire time?_ ”

He wasn't in a very good situation whatsoever. It was clear now that he was a liar, that he had even gone so far as to spreading lies to the policemen. He swallowed thickly and shook his head. “I...I couldn't tell you.”

“Why not?” Sanha asked, angrily. “What the hell do you have to gain by hiding this from me?”

Bin and Dongmin stared solely at Myungjun, but Minhyuk looked now at Sanha, as if trying to comfort him from Myungjun's betrayal.

“I couldn't tell you because...” Myungjun bit down at his lip and ducked his head. He was ashamed of how he had acted that night. He had been overcome with too much fear to help, and so he mumbled, “You called for me, and I did nothing.”

He couldn't bear to look back up again. He heard Sanha's breath hitch, heard the signs of tears coming forth, and he squeezed his own eyes shut. “Y-You let me _die?_ ” Sanha gasped out. Myungjun wasn't sure how to answer such a question, because it was something he had grappled with since the moment he heard the gunshot.

 _He let Sanha die_.

Not only that, but he allowed Sanha to lay there until someone else called the police. He didn't rise up to check it out, nor did he attempt to truly figure out who had murdered Sanha. He kept it all quiet and sat on the information as if he were some sort of demented keeper of secrets.

“I'm sorry-” he tried to apologize, but Sanha refused to listen.

“Get out,” the boy snapped.

Myungjun looked up; Sanha was crying, sure enough, shaking like a leaf in the breeze and leaning closer into Minhyuk's arms. “Sanha-”

“I said _get out!_ ” Sanha screeched then, and the lights flickered in Minhyuk's room. Beside him, Myungjun heard Bin curse, but he chose not to comment. “I hate you, Myungjun! I _hate you!_ Y-You let me die, you kept all of this shit from me – I hate you! I-I-I hope _you_ die! I hope _you_ feel what this is like!” And then, Sanha stood, using the little energy he had contained within him to pick up the book he had been working on with Minhyuk and throw it. Myungjun just barely blocked it, arms coming up to protect his face, but when he looked over again, he could see a fire in Sanha's eyes as he pointed at the door. “Get _out!_ ” the ghost screamed, and lights flickered again.

Myungjun didn't waste another instant trying to apologize. He grabbed his backpack, ignoring Bin's strangled cries of, “Junnie, wait!” and he ran out of the house.

He nearly tripped a dozen of times. His hands trembled and his knees felt weak, but he finally pushed himself through the front door and dropped onto the sidewalk, right beside the house.

He cried. He cried loudly, just as he had the other day, and pitied himself for being so foolish and so stupid.

He had turned every single person against him in just a handful of hours, and he had no one to blame for it but himself.

The front door opened, and Myungjun heard Bin once more, gasping out, “Myungjun, are you alright?”

The boy bent down beside him and picked up his head, thumbs caressing the plush of his reddened cheeks. Myungjun looked up into the warm gaze of his boyfriend, the concerned expression on his face, and cried even more. “I-I'm sorry, Binnie!” he sobbed. “I di-didn't mean to lie to, to you! I'm so, so sorry!”

“Shh,” Bin whispered, and he pulled Myungjun in for a hug, rocking the both of them back and forth. “It's okay.”

“It's _not_ okay!” Myungjun buried his head into the crook of Bin's neck, breathing in his scent as a means to comfort himself. “I ne-never told you about-about my mom – it's all true, it's fucking _true!_ I was so embarrassed, an-and when Sanha died – I thought it was a joke, I thought he was screwing with me, but I _froze_ , Bin. I fucking _froze_ , and I feel so bad. I didn't want anyone to know I was a coward an-and I dug myself into this hole – god, Bin, I'm sorry for lying!”

Bin never once pulled away, though. Bin kept a tight hold onto Myungjun, pressing a few kisses into his hair, and then sighed. “It's okay,” he said again. “I love you, no matter what, and...and I understand. It's been difficult, Junnie, it really has, and – Junnie, I'm so sorry you've gone through all of this.”

There, in the middle of the sidewalk, with Bin now as his last chance for redemption, Myungjun continued to cry.

Bin was all he had left, and he held on in fear of losing him, too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter, we reach the big climax! :O
> 
> come visit me on either my tumblr ([@vonseal](http://www.vonseal.tumblr.com)) or my twitter ([@nightmjare](http://www.twitter.com/nightmjare))!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updating before my short hiatus as i move - enjoy!
> 
>  **slight warning** there is violence and slurs in this chapter, please read with caution

The night was agonizing. Myungjun only arrived home in the wee hours of the morning, choosing instead to spend all of his time with Bin in order to get his mind off of everything else going on in his life. Bin had asked him questions, unfortunately, questions that Myungjun didn't feel comfortable answering: how long had his mom been beating him, why couldn't he tell the police about it, what would happen _now?_ Myungjun couldn't respond, and so Bin just held him through the night, propped up in their little hillside spot.

Myungjun's tears had long since dried up. He wanted to cry – he _tried_ to cry. Even that morning, with very little sleep and a nauseous feeling rising up in his stomach, he felt the need and desire to cry. He choked and dry-heaved into his toilet, but nothing would come.

He felt miserable, though, and as he walked to school, he wondered if he was nothing more than a dead man. He wondered if he _had_ died, if he was a ghost, because people flitted past him as if he was nothing, and he felt as if he wasn't entirely _there_. He was floating, in a realm similar to Earth but not quite _Earth_. He was falling, falling, _falling_ -

He stopped right outside the school building, taking a deep breath and squatting down near the staircase. He sent a quick text to Bin ( _i'm at school waiting for you_ ) before trying his best to catch his bearings.

He wondered if he was sick. He felt hot. He felt sweaty. He felt _sick_. But he also wondered if everything that had been happening to him recently was just messing with him, distorting his entire image of his health. He didn't know the answer to anything, and so he just ducked his head and stayed where he was.

Myungjun wanted Bin to arrive as soon as possible. Perhaps a few hugs and kisses would heal him, as ridiculous and childish as that sounded. Human companionship, assurance he was fine and _normal_ , would help heal him, in any case.

He didn't get the human companionship he desired, though. Not when he saw someone step in front of him.

“Hey, fag,” a voice greeted, belonging to the feet of that boy. Myungjun didn't look up. He continued to stare at the ground. This did little to alleviate the situation, however, and the boy grabbed his collar and forced him to his feet. “I'm talking to you, you little shit!”

Myungjun finally did grant him a glance, and he recognized it as Minhyuk's soccer friend, the one who had punched him just the other day. His bruises still hadn't yet healed from the boy's misdeeds, and Myungjun glowered at him, struggling lightly in his grip. “Let me go,” he growled.

It wasn't that easy, obviously. The boy just laughed and began to drag him down the sidewalk, past the front of the school. Students nearby noticed them, but no one said a word. Myungjun wished he wasn't so unpopular, especially in that moment when he desperately needed someone to help him.

“You _really_ thought that you could act like an asshole to Minhyuk and get away with it?” the boy asked, and once they were around the side of the building, he shoved Myungjun into the brick. Myungjun's shoulder hit the rough surface and he winced, but otherwise tried to show no sign of pain or discomfort. “You need to learn not to mess with _any_ of us!” The boy leaned in close. Myungjun could smell his breath, _feel_ his breath, and he tried to struggle back. The boy's grip was just too strong, and he let Myungjun flail for a few seconds before warning, “And stay away from Bin, as well.”

Myungjun could handle quite a few things from bullies. He just hated when Bin was brought into the fray. Bin had done nothing wrong. Bin had caused no issue, had hurt no one at all, and he didn't deserve to have his name uttered by such despicable students as these. On top of that, Myungjun felt insulted when his relationship was put under scrutiny. He _loved_ Bin. He had never treated Bin wrong. What did it matter that they were both men; clearly Bin had consented, and yet people acted as if Myungjun had sullied their star soccer player. It was too much paranoia, and Myungjun hated it.

“Bin can make his own decisions,” Myungjun snapped. “And he's decided that he loves me.”

The punch came before Myungjun could even detect it. A fist slammed into his cheek, causing his head to snap backwards and hit the brick wall behind him. He could already feel a throbbing above his eyebrow, likely where he had been cut, but he refused to back down just yet. “Why the fuck are you so pissed?” he asked. “Jealous?”

“Jealous?” the soccer player laughed, and he punched Myungjun again. “Jealous of _what_?”

Myungjun had to take a few deep breaths and had to close his eyes to stop the world from appearing so dizzying. “Jealous that Bin cares so much for me. Obviously, if you're this upset, you just want the same love and appreciation, don't you? But you won't get it, because you're a disgusting human being, and Bin doesn't love people who-”

He never got to finish his sentence. The man punched Myungjun, again and again, then slammed the back of his head into the brick once more. By the time he seemed to calm down, Myungjun felt as if he couldn't breathe well, and he tasted blood in his mouth. His entire body hurt, too, with the force of the student's beatings, and he was now only being held up by those angry hands that grasped onto his school uniform.

“You're a _fag_ ,” the boy exclaimed, slamming Myungjun against the wall. He snatched the glasses from Myungjun's face and those, too, were slammed into the wall. Myungjun heard the sound of glass crunching, breaking, and he only had a second to mourn the loss of his only pair of glasses before he was punched again, this time in the stomach. He doubled over, coughing and sputtering, but the boy held him back up again. “You stay the fuck away from Bin, you hear me? Or else.”

Myungjun _wanted_ to claim that there was nothing else the boy could do, short of killing him, that hadn't already been done. Myungjun also wanted to reiterate that Bin was mature and smart and could decide who he hung out with. But no words were able to come forth. He felt too ill, too wounded to speak, and so he instead just coughed pitifully and tried his best to stand on shaky knees.

He needn't respond, anyway, because he heard someone else nearby, calling his name. “Myungjun! Myungjun, oh my _god_ , let him go!”

It was Bin, Myungjun realized, through his blurry and dizzied gaze. Bin was rushing forward, worry shining clear in his eyes. He pulled the student off of Myungjun and twisted the boy's arm harshly before shoving him into the wall right beside Myungjun.

“You keep your fucking hands off my boyfriend!” Bin yelled, and with his free hand, he yanked the boy's hair. The boy cried out in pain; Myungjun was bitter enough to scoff at how weak the kid really was. “Touch him again, and I'll kill you!” Bin warned – his warning was far more harsh than the kid's had been. Bin was usually kind and sweet, a soul who wouldn't hurt a fly. Seeing him act in such a manner was scary enough for _Myungjun_ – he couldn't imagine how the student must feel.

The student, once released, rushed off, not once looking back at the mess he had caused, and he left Myungjun and Bin by themselves.

Myungjun, now free from any harm, allowed himself to slide down to the ground, breaths coming out labored and hard. Bin noticed, and he bent down, too, kneeling at Myungjun's level and checking over his wounds frantically. “O-Oh my god,” he murmured. “He beat the shit out of you. What the hell-”

His hands passed over bruises and cuts, wiping blood away from Myungjun's eyes. He held Myungjun close, a sort of comfort Myungjun had never felt after the bullies had gotten to him, for he had never let anyone else know of the troubles he faced. “Junnie, where are your glasses?” Bin asked. “I know you can't see very well.”

Myungjun felt the ground, wincing when his hands landed on the broken glass of his lenses. “D-Down here,” he stammered out, words cut off with a vicious cough.

He was sick, and now he was hurt, and the world wouldn't stop spinning.

Bin was slightly blurry in front of him – Myungjun didn't know if that was from the beating or the lack of glasses. Still, he reached out and grasped onto Bin's arms, holding tightly in order to keep himself from slumping over even more.

He saw Bin rifle through his backpack, and he coughed out, “What are y-you doing?”

“I have some tissues,” Bin said, and he began to wipe up the blood that dripped down Myungjun's face. It hurt, Bin rubbing like that, but Myungjun didn't complain. He was in no position to complain. He sat there and allowed Bin to continue to clean him up. The younger boy passed over a few bruises and his eyes narrowed as he examined them. “Myungjun?” he asked.

“What?”

“Why...why did he attack you like that?”

Myungjun stared up at Bin, up at his inquisitive eyes, and realized, suddenly, he could not think of a lie. They usually came so naturally to him when he was with Bin, but now, for some reason, his brain could not cycle through any good excuses. Instead, he just stared dumbly, swallowing once or twice as he attempted to come up with _something_.

Bin seemed uncomfortable with the silence. “Did you do something to him?”

“N-No...”

“Why else would he hurt you like this?”

“Because...” Myungjun looked down, struggling to think. “Um...b-because-”

“Has this happened before?”

The question had changed, and Myungjun was thrown off guard. He looked at Bin, shocked, and realized Bin simply seemed resigned. “Because you've had bruises before. I mean, you've had them a _lot_. And you always have some sort of excuse. ' _I fell over'_ or ' _I bruise easily.'_ And I never really thought anything of it, because I was so sure that you would never lie to me. But you lied to me about your mom, and you lied to the _police_ about Sanha's killers – please don't tell me you're lying about all the bruises you've gotten over the years, too.”

Myungjun knew, right then and there, that he had been found out. Bin had realized the truth, looking at Myungjun's mess of a face. He had pieced two and two together, after months of trusting only what Myungjun had to say.

Myungjun's stomach turned, and he slowly lowered his gaze, ashamed for everything he had forced Bin to believe. “I...I lied for _you_ , Binnie.”

“How long has this been going on?”

Myungjun shrugged. “I'm not sure,” he murmured.

“And why did you keep it all from me?”

“Because...because if they only focused on me, if you weren't involved, then-then your life wouldn't be miserable. They _like_ you – you're the star of-of the soccer team. They won't bully you unless you give them reason to – and the moment you stick up for me, that's _reason_.”

Bin was silent for a minute, and Myungjun didn't like it. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling his head pound and spin, and waited for a response. It came after an elongated period of time, of Bin thinking and pondering. Finally, he asked, “Did you not think I could care for myself?”

“That...that wasn't it! I know you're strong, I just thought that...I didn't want you to go through all of this.” He thought his sentiments were nice. He thought his heart was in the right place. But, as he glanced back up at Bin's forlorn expression, he realized that perhaps he was wrong all the while. Bin would never have lied to him about bullying and beatings. Bin would have told him, and they would have worked it all out together.

Now, though, he had to deal with Bin staring at him, eyes harsh and doubtful and yet still filled with so much concern. Myungjun loved him, and he had wanted to keep it all secret to _protect_ Bin – but maybe Bin never really needed his protection. Maybe he simply needed the truth.

He saw Bin take a deep breath and sit back on his heels. “Can you stand?” the boy asked, suddenly switching topics.

Myungjun nodded his head, and he stood, shakily, onto his feet. Bin watched him, and then stood up beside him. He didn't move. He chewed on his bottom lip and looked at the ground before asking, “You should go home. I know it's early, but you're in no position to stay here. Can you make it home okay?”

Bin never walked him home, because Myungjun had lied to him so many times before. Clearly, even though he had uncovered the truths Myungjun kept hidden from him, old habits were difficult to get rid of.

“I can,” Myungjun responded, even though his head still felt light and dizzy. “I'll...I'll text when I'm home?”

He could see Bin visibly swallow, and then his boyfriend mumbled, “I won't respond.”

Myungjun's blood ran cold. “Wha-What? You...always respond. Why won't you r-respond?”

He feared the answer, but he _needed_ to know. He needed to know why Bin would just leave him on read, and why he wouldn't continue their cute traditions.

“I think, Myungjun, we need some time apart.” Bin didn't look back up at him. “I'm...overwhelmed. I can't believe you've been lying to me this entire time.”

“No-”

“I feel like you don't value this relationship, or else you would be truthful with me.”

“Bin, please-”

“And I'm _so,_ so sorry to leave you when...when you just got hurt, but I can't- I can't do it, Myungjun.” Bin shook his head. “I honestly don't feel important to you.”

“Don't do this,” Myungjun blurted out, desperately. Everyone else had left him, and he couldn't handle it if Bin, too, was gone from his life. “You know everything now, I-I swear.” But Bin wasn't budging. Myungjun, panic rising, grabbed onto Bin's arm and tugged it. “You love me, don't you? Please-”

Bin pulled out of his grasp with a scoff. “Don't you _dare_ try and guilt me,” Bin snapped. “I love you, I fucking do, and you know it – don't use it against me, alright? Don't try and make me stay. I _love you_ , Myungjun, but I want us to be equals, and I just...need some time to process this all, okay? I need time.” He glanced up at Myungjun finally, and his eyes yielded regret. He reached a hand out, as if to examine Myungjun's wounds one last time, but thought better of it and turned around, instead.

Myungjun watched him, staring all the while as Bin hurried off, tense and unsure. He wanted Bin to turn around, to apologize, to perhaps understand he _was_ an equal, but that never happened. Bin turned to corner and disappeared from view, and Myungjun was left alone.

He supposed, as he made his way home, struggling to see the road properly through his blurry vision, that he might have deserved the treatment from Bin. Bin was _right_ , after all – Myungjun had lied to him all along. If Bin had lied, if Bin had done the same, Myungjun would lose all of his trust for his boyfriend and their relationship.

It was selfish of him to want Bin to stay. No one else had, however. Myungjun lost everyone else close to him, and Bin had been his final friend.

Now, he was truly alone.

His apartment unit was empty, fortunately enough. He could smell alcohol, and weed, but he ignored it all in favor of shuffling to the bathroom. Through the grimy mirror, he was able to catch an image of himself. His face seemed to be a smudge, and he lamented the fact that he had no glasses, but he was still able to detect how much blood was still smeared across his cheeks. He could see angry, purple and red bruises, as well, forming along his face, and he winced when he poked underneath an eye.

Bin had been so much more gentle with him. Bin had _loved him_. And now, maybe he still did, but their relationship was tattered and torn. Myungjun wasn't sure if it could be mended.

He collapsed in bed and tried to cry, tried to release all of his bottled up depression, but nothing came out. Instead, he stared at his wall until sleep overtook him, and his nightmares were filled with Bin's turned back as he rounded the corner of the school building.

Myungjun woke up various times throughout the day, though he made no move to get up again. He stay until night, when he fell asleep again, plagued with such horrible dreams and thoughts, He was exhausted and wounded and spent, and, the fourth time he woke up past midnight, he wondered if it was possible to even go on.

He heard shuffling, movement, and talking. It was hushed and right outside his door. He tried to block it out at first, understanding that his mom probably brought home more of her friends, but soon it was louder and his door began to open.

With a sigh, Myungjun sat up in bed. He didn't _want_ to face anyone, as his beaten face was certain to gather questions, but he wanted to keep the privacy of his room.

He recognized Naesang and he grit his teeth down. “Why the hell are you in my room?” he asked, and then pointed at the door. “Just fucking leave me alone.”

Naesang didn't leave, nor did he respond to Myungjun. Instead, he glanced behind him and said, “Hurry, he's up.”

Myungjun barely had time to ponder Naesang's strange statement, because just then, an unfamiliar man entered the room. He took one look at Myungjun and asked, “This _is_ the right kid, yeah?”

“Of course it is. I'm not making the same mistake twice. His mom knows, too – go on, then, before he yells!”

Myungjun still was unable to get a word in when he noticed the new man had a gun.

A gun pointed right at him.

A gun that went off and shot him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what now :O
> 
> come visit me on either my tumblr ([@vonseal](http://www.vonseal.tumblr.com)) or my twitter ([@nightmjare](http://www.twitter.com/nightmjare))!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **slight warning** here for violence! hope yall enjoy!

First and foremost, he felt pain.

It was overwhelming. His entire body seared with it, agonizing, terrible pain. He tried to scream, but he couldn't even gather enough breath for that. He simply lay back against his headboard, a shaky hand covering his wound as he struggled to take a breath, to comprehend what just occurred.

His already blurry vision was now much worse. He couldn't see much in front of him, save for the shadows of the two men, and through all of the absolute torture he felt as if he was in, he could still _hear_ , past the ringing, constant sound in his head.

“He's not dead,” Naesang complained. “Shoot him in the head this time.”

The other man cursed, and Myungjun heard the sound of a gun cocking, and then the man said, “It's fucking jammed.”

He _wished_ they had shot him correctly the first time. He wasn't sure why they would shoot him, or what he did to deserve everything he was going through, but if they had killed him, at least, then all of the pain would be over with. Instead, he was stuck in this unbearable agony.

He wondered if Naesang and the other man were the two who killed Sanha. He remembered they mentioned _the right kid_ and _the same mistake twice_. Surely, then, these were Sanha's murderers.

But why? What did _Sanha_ do to deserve it? And did Myungjun do something similar to be forced to suffer through this?

He tried to focus on getting away, but moving was painful. He pushed himself up from his headboard once, then fell back against it. Blood was soaking his clothing and his bedsheets, and his hand was already slick with the substance, but he didn't care much at the moment. He needed to get _away_.

Even if he craved his own demise, he felt as if he was given a sliver of grace period for a reason. Perhaps he was supposed to deliver the information of Sanha's killers to the police. Sanha could finally be at rest, as he deserved to be, and the men would go to jail.

But he couldn't get up.

He heard the men talking again. Naesang fussed, “He's _moving_ – dammit, do you have a knife?”

“I left it at home because I thought one shot would do it. How's he still alive?”

Naesang sighed loudly, then stepped forward toward Myungjun. “I'll have to get my hands dirty, I guess.”

Before Myungjun could focus on him, Naesang was standing over his bed, snarling down at him in the darkness. The older man grabbed Myungjun's neck and squeezed tightly with his hands. He pressed his thumbs down into Myungjun's throat, and the boy choked. “You don't give up easily, do you?” Naesang hissed as he forced Myungjun further into the bed. “Just die, Myungjun. It's not like you had anything worthwhile to live for, anyway, you brat.”

Perhaps it was true. Perhaps he was right. Still, Myungjun fought him, struggling against his hands, despite the pain of the gunshot wound in his stomach. He tried his best to pry Naesang's hands off of him, but when that didn't succeed, he did the only other thing he could think of.

He did what Sanha had attempted in an effort to be saved – he pounded on the wall behind him.

He wanted someone to hear. Even if Sanha was dead and with Minhyuk, and Sanha's mom had long since moved out, he wanted someone in their own apartment complex to hear him suffocating, to hear him _dying_ , just as Sanha had wanted Myungjun to hear.

No one from the apartment came. Myungjun felt despair as his hands went weak, as his eyes began to roll back in his head, but then he heard a voice beside him.

“What the _hell?”_

His eyes shot open again, and even though his vision was going black at the edges, he noticed Sanha, looking at the scene with horror in his gaze. Myungjun tried to call out his name, but no words came, and he tried to lift a hand to reach out for help, but he couldn't even move.

Sanha, fortunately, seemed to grasp the situation well enough, however. The ghost moved rather quickly, most likely spurred with adrenaline and recognition of his own death. He grabbed onto Naesang's hands, a feat he had been unable to do before. Even Myungjun could feel the burst of energy, though, that emitted from Sanha's being.

Naesang certainly felt it. The man jerked back suddenly, and Myungjun was able to breathe again once his throat was freed. He coughed violently, gasping for sweet oxygen, and Sanha continued to grip tightly onto Naesang's hand.

“What the fuck are you doing, Naesang?” the other man asked. “You almost killed him! Why'd you stop?”

“S-Something's holding me!” Naesang exclaimed. He tried to jerk away from Sanha, but Sanha held fast onto him. “Help me!” Naesang screeched, obviously not quite understanding just what was going on.

Sanha held tightly. It was difficult for Naesang to escape a ghost, it appeared, and Sanha used the time he had to glance back at Myungjun. “Run!” Sanha exclaimed.

Myungjun shook his head. “I-I can't,” he stammered out. The wound was too painful for him to move.

Still, he didn't want Sanha's efforts to go to waste. The boy was exerting all of his ghostly energy onto helping Myungjun escape. Myungjun was offered the chance at life that Sanha could never again experience.

It would be ridiculous to waste that.

He pushed himself out of bed, crying out in pain as he keeled over. His hands gripped at his stomach, where the gunshot wound still bled profusely, and he stumbled as he tried to get away.

The other man tried to grab him, but Sanha was prepared for that. With the close quarters of Myungjun's bedroom, Sanha was able to easily kick a foot out, and it landed solidly onto the man's chest.

As the two men struggled against Sanha's efforts, Myungjun took the chance and he continued to make his way out of his bedroom.

The rest of his apartment appeared devoid of all other human life. Myungjun peered into the darkness of his mom's room and called out her name. “Mom?” She didn't respond, nor did she respond when he called for her in the messy living room.

She wasn't there.

It was likely that she was out, as per usual. His mother didn't stay home often on weeknights, not when she had different men to meet up with and different bars to frequent. Myungjun didn't know why he would ever kid himself into believing that she would be in the apartment right then and there.

If she was, she would come to check on him, anyway. She wouldn't leave him to bleed out.

Myungjun nearly tripped over a few bottles of liquor as he continued forward, his eyes trained solely on the door. He heard the men yelling about how he couldn't get away, and he heard Sanha's voice still urging him to run.

He exited the apartment and closed the door behind him.

“Myungjun!”

His mother's voice, suddenly, rang through, and Myungjun glanced up, narrowing his eyes in order to focus on the woman standing there in front of him.

She held a cigarette in her hand, in between her fingers. Her eyes were wide with shock, though she hardly gave Myungjun's wound a second glance. Instead, she stared at him, seeming confused and upset. “Myungjun,” she repeated, “what are you doing?”

Not _what happened_. Not _why have you been shot._ The question was weird, and Myungjun stopped in his tracks, using one hand to grab onto the doorknob, something to hold onto to keep himself upright.

“Mom,” he managed to blurt out. He felt something dribble down his chin – blood, perhaps, Myungjun thought to himself. He felt scared, realizing now how close to death he was, and he gave a loud sob and stumbled towards his mother. “Help me,” he begged, to the only person who could now save him. “Th-They shot-”

“Why aren't you dead?” his mother asked.

Myungjun froze in his tracks, his own eyes now growing in size. “Mom?” he whispered.

She swallowed thickly, then glanced away. He noticed the tears in her eyes that she made no move to get rid of. “You should've died in there,” she murmured. “You shouldn't have come out here. I don't want to see you like this.”

“What?” Her words made no sense. Myungjun struggled to comprehend them, to understand what she was trying to say. “Mom-”

The door behind him flung open before he could get any further in his questioning. Naesang and the other man appeared again, both out of breath and frazzled. Myungjun's mother glanced at them once before scoffing. “I thought you said he'd make it quick,” she fussed. She was crying again, and this time, she wiped away her tears, stopping them from continuing their descent down her cheeks. “Why is he alive?”

Myunjung's knees buckled. He felt burdened with shock and horror and absolute pain. He allowed himself to slide down to the ground, gasping out his breaths in an effort to keep himself actually breathing. “Mom,” he whispered, but he was cut off again.

“We thought one shot was all it _would_ take,” Naesang said. “And the fucking gun is jammed. I'll choke him-”

“Don't!” Myungjun's mother exclaimed. Her voice cracked, but she continued, “Why the hell would you make him suffer like this? You promised that-”

“I can do whatever I want with him,” Naesang snapped at her. “He's _mine_ now! You promised _me_ all of the life insurance funds, and then I'll forgive your debts. Just let me kill him how I need to.”

“You could have killed him right the first time! Instead, you fucked up and killed Sanha – you're too stupid to even know the right apartment number!”

Naesang didn't respond to her. He knelt down in front of Myungjun again and sighed as he grabbed onto Myungjun's neck. “Your mom doesn't know when to shut up,” Naesang said. “What were you hiding in your bedroom anyway, Kid? Got some ghosts in there?” He squeezed Myungjun's throat, and Myungjun's airway was cut off once more. “This is nothing personal, Myungjun, even if you always were a little brat. Your mom just doesn't know how to curb her drug issue, and I guess she's willing to give you up if she can get her hand on more weed.”

Myungjun felt pain, intense, scorching pain, all over his body. His lungs cried out for a breath and the wound on his stomach felt as if it was burning his whole body, and coupled with that now was the emotional weight of what felt like thousands of years.

He understood, finally, the life insurance forms in his mother's bedside table, and the marijuana he found stacked in little baggies. He understood why Naesang killed Sanha – a stupid, pathetic mistake. It was supposed to have been _him_ all along. Myungjun was supposed to die.

He was supposed to die for the stupid money so his mother could pay off her stupid debts.

Knowing that his own mother found him so worthless, so useless and unloved, that she was willing to sell off his life was miserable. Myungjun stopped struggling so much, stopped tugging and pulling at Naesang's hands, because perhaps he needed to die.

Everyone had left him, anyway. His own mother, it seemed, wouldn't want him around any longer.

There was no reason for him to stay.

Once again, however, his death was cut short. He heard Sanha's voice over the ringing in his ears, and then his lungs were able to gather that sweet burst of fresh air they had been awaiting. Myungjun's head was spinning, and he couldn't stop coughing, but he was able to pull himself together in time to see Sanha standing over him.

And, from a quick glance, everyone else saw Sanha, as well.

Naesang was staring up at him in horror, and Myungjun's mother fell back onto the pavement. The cigarette dropped from her fingers, still smoking on the ground, as she pointed up at him, stammering out Sanha's name.

Sanha was breathing deeply, obviously exerting himself more than necessary.

“Myungjun,” Sanha ordered. “Get out of here.”

“I-I can't-” Myungjun tried to say again, but Sanha glared over at him, a serious expression over his gaze that Myungjun had only seen once before – when he had told Sanha of the secrets he had been keeping.

“I got your phone,” Sanha said, and he placed it in Myungjun's lap. “Call someone. Call the police, and the ambulance – you need to go.”

Myungjun, though, shook his head. He sobbed out, “Why sh-should I even live? My own m- _mom_ wants me dead.”

She looked guilty, at least, though her wide eyes refused to stray from Sanha's presence.

“Live for me,” Sanha said, and Myungjun blinked at him. “Live so you can put these bastards in jail for murdering me.” The boy clenched his fists and smiled bitterly. “We'll be even, then. I'll forgive you, then.”

He owed Sanha justice, at the very least. Sanha had suffered through so much loneliness and fear and pain. If Myungjun were to die now, Sanha would never receive closure for his own death.

So Myungjun stood, shakily, coughing up even more blood. He felt too ill and tired to continue onward, but he forced himself to stumble away. He _had_ to – for Sanha's sake, if not for his own.

He heard Naesang yelling after him, and some sort of struggle going on. Perhaps he was trying to fight off Sanha. Perhaps he would win that particular battle. Sanha couldn't stay visible for too long, considering how much energy even _touching_ something seemed to take. Myungjun, once more, was granted a period of time in which to escape.

He had to take it.

Still, he couldn't run forever. His wound had slowed him down and all he could do was trail across the sidewalk, leaving lines of blood in his wake. He had to stop, to call the police, to get help.

But would the police come for him fast enough? Would an ambulance be able to find him before Naesang could?

He fell over onto the pavement. His stomach hit the ground harshly and he cried out, gripping tightly onto his phone.

His hands were shaky as he brought the device up to his face. It was difficult to see his contact list. He knew the police were on there somewhere, a default under _Emergency_ , but he couldn't determine with one it was.

He finally just groaned and allowed his finger to hit one random contact. He prayed it was someone useful. He prayed it was someone who could help him.

The phone on the other end rang once, and then twice, and then in the middle of the third ring, a voice answered. “Hello?” It was a man, and he sounded tired, as if the call had woken him up. Myungjun couldn't discern the voice, not in his current state of mind. “Um...who is this?”

Myungjun took a breath and felt himself crying again. His words were slurred as he spoke, and broken constantly by his own sobs, but he knew he needed to save himself. “Kim Myu-Myungjun.”

The voice was silent, but then the man sounded more alert when he spoke. “Myungjun? Jinwoo's friend, right? Myungjun, what's wrong?”

So it was Officer Park. In any less dire circumstance, Myungjun would feel the need to hang up. But he needed help; he needed Officer Park's help.

“I was shot,” he gasped out. The phone slipped in his grasp and clattered onto the concrete. He tried to pick it up again, but his fingers, slick with blood, couldn't maintain a good grip. Instead, he simply lay down as close to the phone as possible and said, “I'm dying, O-O-Officer Park.”

“Myungjun, where are you?” Officer Park asked. He seemed frantic. “I'm on my way – Myungjun, tell me where you are, okay? Let me know where you are.”

Myungjun looked to the side of the road. He recognized some of the shops, shops he would always pass on his way to and from school. He was still close enough to his apartment building that the men could find him and so he gasped out, “My apartment. Near-near the doughnut shop. Officer Park, my mom – she knows. She did it! Naesang, too – they're-they're going to find me, O-Officer-”

“They won't find you,” Officer Park assured. “I'm not that far away. I'm going to call the ambulance as well, okay?”

“Don't hang up!” Myungjun begged. “Please!”

“I won't.” He heard Officer Park talking to someone else, maybe his wife, giving instructions for who to call and what to tell them. Then he heard the man breathing quickly. “Myungjun, we're calling the ambulance now, alright? I'll be there in five minutes – can you stay with me for that long?”

Myungjun didn't think he could, but he didn't want to disappoint Officer Park.

Besides, he knew if he were to allow himself to give into a state of unconsciousness right now, before the authorities arrived, he might be as good as gone. “Okay,” he whispered.

“Talk to me, then, Myungjun. What happened today? Tell me everything.”

And so Myungjun talked. His sentences were clipped and incomplete and his words were soft, nearly silent as they left his mouth, but Officer Park kept spurring him onward.

In the middle of one of his sentences, Officer Park cut him off suddenly. “I'm here!” he exclaimed. Myungjun heard a car door shut. “Myungjun, where are you?”

Myungjun couldn't respond to him, unfortunately. Just then, his body was lifted, and he was met with Naesang's face right up near his. The man looked frightened and alarmed, but still determined.

There was a gun, too, and Naesang shoved it underneath Myungjun's chin.

“You're a fucking creep,” Naesang hissed. “But even a goddamn ghost can't stop me from getting the money I deserve.”

Myungjun knew, then, that all of the pain he had suffered while running and waiting was for naught. Naesang had him, and Naesang had a gun, and Naesang was prepared for murder. All Myungjun could do was close his eyes and wait for death to take him.

The gun went off again, but Myungjun didn't feel more pain, nor did he feel _less_ pain. He wasn't dead, it seemed. He was alive and well, if the throbbing at his stomach that persisted was anything to go by.

He opened his eyes and realized Naesang was on the ground, in a pool of his own blood, and near him stood Officer Park, gun drawn in shaking hands.

“Myungjun!” Officer Park gasped out, and he rushed forward, ignoring Naesang's body for now. “Myungjun, oh god-” He was staring down at the wound. He dropped his gun in order to place his hands over the bullet hole and applied pressure accordingly. “You did so good, Myungjun,” the policeman praised him.

Myungjun closed his eyes and leaned into Officer Park's body. He felt too weak to continue, and he mumbled, “I'm tired.”

“I know you are.”

“I can't stay with you,” he added.

Officer Park shushed him. “The ambulance is here,” he whispered. “They'll take care of you now. Just let them take you, okay? Myungjun? Are you with me still?”

Myungjun, though, allowed his body to finally sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and now it'll start slowing down and making more sense. but will the ending be good or bad? 
> 
> come visit me on either my tumblr ([@vonseal](http://www.vonseal.tumblr.com)) or my twitter ([@nightmjare](http://www.twitter.com/nightmjare))!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know what guys? i have no warnings for this chapter :)

It's difficult to open his eyes. He can see the bright lights behind his eyelids, and he can hear distant noises ringing in his ears. His abdomen is still in pain, and he wonders if he's dead, or if he's a ghost, or if he survived, by some miraculous circumstance.

He groans out, trying to shy himself away from whatever reality he's about to be forced to face, but the noise he makes seems to alert others nearby.

“Myungjun!” he hears someone call his name. It's a youthful voice, a little childish, and he thinks of Sanha. He wonders if it's Sanha. He wonders if they are now ghosts together. “Myungjun, are you awake?”

He doesn't respond. He just tries to settle down further into the bed he's currently laying on.

Wait? Bed?

He opens his eyes finally, confused with the sudden change in location, and stares up at the ceiling before him. The source of the bright lights has been found, as has the mystery of where he's located.

Why was he in a hospital? The last thing he remembered, he was laying in a pool of his own blood, Officer Park holding him and calling for help. Naesang was there, too – but was Naesang shot? Was Naesang still alive? And, if he was, wouldn't he soon come back to finish the job he had started?

“He's awake!” he heard the voice again, and he turned his head to look over at Sanha, standing over him and gesturing wildly to his side. “Minhyuk, wake Bin up! And get the nurses! Look, his eyes are open!”

Why was Sanha there with him? Wasn't Sanha mad at him? And Minhyuk, by default, was mad at him, too. And even Bin wanted some time apart – were they all there? Were they all with him in a hospital? Why _was_ he in the hospital? Didn't he die? Wasn't he supposed to die?

He opened his mouth and tried to ask what was going on, but all that came out was a gargled slur. Almost instantly after his mispronounced question, he saw a new face appear over him.

“Myungjun!” Bin exclaimed. He looked awful. His cheeks were lined with tear streaks and he had dark circles under his eyes. It seemed he hadn't slept in days, though Myungjun was unsure why. Bin loved to sleep, and would gladly sleep in any sort of situation. “Are you alright, babe?” he asked, and his voice was broken. He gave a hitched sob, then asked someone else, someone Myungjun couldn't see, “Is he going to be alright?”

He heard a woman's voice respond. “He's fine, don't worry. He's probably a little delirious right now from the pain medication and how long he's slept for, but he'll be fine. He might go back to sleep in a bit.”

“Will he wake up soon?”

“Yes. He won't sleep as long again.”

Bin was crying. Myungjun could see the tear drops flowing down his cheeks. Bin held onto his hand, too, squeezing it lightly, though Myungjun could hardly feel a thing. “Junnie, if you need to sleep, go to sleep,” he said. “I'll be here when you wake up, alright? I'm...I'm so sorry for leaving you.” Bin's free hand trailed down Myungjun's cheek, passing over the little bump of his nose and the sharpness of his cheek. “I'm so, so sorry for leaving you that night. I wish I could take it back. I wish I never left – god, Junnie, I'm so sorry. If I had stayed with you, none of this would've happened, I'm-”

“It would've happened still.” Minhyuk was talking now, though Myungjun couldn't see him. “Naesang was determined to get his money's worth – even if it didn't happen a few nights ago, it would've happened soon.”

“But, still! I left him and he was alone, and now he's here – he's closing his eyes, Minhyuk. Is he going back to sleep?”

Myungjun didn't hear the rest of what Bin had to say. He was tired, too tired, and he was confused, but he couldn't focus on anything. He needed to rest again, to allow his body some time to heal.

The second time he awoke, it seemed less bright and less noisy.

He could feel things a little bit better; unfortunately, the discomfort in his side seemed to intensify, and he grimaced in pain as he picked his head up and looked around the room.

Things were a bit blurry without his glasses, but he recognized being in a hospital room. He was hooked up to all kinds of machines, each one beeping or moving or making little blinks at him. Off to the corner of the room was Sanha, sleeping in his chair, and right beside his bed was Bin, uncomfortably stretched out on a couch and holding tightly onto his hand.

Myungjun stared at Bin for a few seconds before shaking his hand. “Bin,” he whispered. His voice was hoarse, but at least it worked properly this time. “Binnie.” He shook their hands again, and Bin jerked upright, blinking in confusion.

His eyes landed on Myungjun, and he sighed deeply. “Junnie!” he exclaimed, standing up and hovering over Myungjun's bed. “Are you alright? Are you uncomfortable? Are you in pain?”

“Pain,” Myungjun responded, and he bit down harshly on his lip. “It hurts, Bin.”

“Your medicine wore off. Here.” Bin reached over and pressed a button on the bed. Myungjun wasn't sure what it did, and he looked over at Bin with an inquisitive gaze. “It's for morphine,” Bin explained. His free hand now ran over Myungjun's hair, smoothing it back against his forehead and staring down at him with a forlorn expression. “It'll numb the pain shortly.”

Myungjun blinked up at his boyfriend. The last time they saw each other, Bin had wanted a break from their relationship. Why were things so different now? “Oh,” he whispered. “Bin?”

“Hm?”

“I...I was really shot, wasn't I?”

Bin nodded his head, slowly and hesitantly. “What, um, what do you remember, Junnie?”

He remembered the pain in his stomach. He remembered the fear in his chest. He remembered the horror when he discovered that his own mother had sold off his life in order to pay off the drugs she had accumulated. And he remembered falling unconscious in Officer Park's arms. “I...fainted,” he mumbled. “I passed out. I was shot, and...my mom set it up, and then-”

“Shh.” Bin quieted him, calmed him, and nodded his head. “Officer Park had the ambulance take you to the hospital. He rode here with you. Jinwoo, too, has been here as often as he can.” Bin's fingers made little patterns across Myungjun's forehead. “Sanha said he managed to keep the men off of you for as long as he could. I think he ended up saving your life. Once he ensured you were safe, he went and told Minhyuk what happened. Minhyuk called me, and I've...I've been here since then.”

“Since then?” Myungjun asked, nuzzling into Bin's touch. “How long has i-it been?”

“A few days,” Bin replied. “Almost a week. You were in a lot of pain. You kept waking up and falling back asleep – they pumped you with a lot of pain medication, though, so they said it was likely you wouldn't stay awake for too long.”

Myungjun swallowed. His mouth felt dry, but before he could say anything, Bin seemed to notice. He bent down and kissed Myungjun's forehead. “I'll go get you some ice to chew on,” he whispered.

But Myungjun didn't want him to go. Myungjun didn't want to be alone. He grabbed onto Bin's hand and shook his head. “I'm fine,” he promised, voice hushed. “What...what's happened to Naesang and that other man? What's happened to my mom?”

Bin pursed his lips, but stayed in his seat. “Officer Park, um...he killed Naesang,” Bin admitted. “He shot him in the chest. It hit his heart – he died shortly after they took you to the hospital. The other guy was caught quickly, and your mom went in willingly. She, uh, told everything in order to get a lighter sentence. I can't believe...I can't fucking believe she did this to you.” Bin looked over his body. His chin was trembling. “God, Junnie, I can't believe she _did this_. I can't believe I-I left you. I left you, and you went home to _this_. Jun, I'm so sorry. I'm _so fucking sorry_ , babe, I just-”

Myungjun shook his head as best he could. He could feel the morphine kicking in. The pain was ebbing away and the world was getting a little more difficult to keep up with. “Bin, it's not your fault. I lied to you. I didn't deserve to have you stay.”

“But I should've stayed! I should've stayed to make sure you were fine, and instead I left-”

“Bin.” Myungjun reached a hand out, slowly and unsure, and grasped onto Bin's hand. “I love you, Binnie. It was my fault, and-and you didn't know this would happen. You didn't know, and I love you regardless, and I'm sorry I lied.”

“It's not your fault,” Bin responded. “None of this is your fault, okay? You understand that, don't you, Junnie? This _wasn't_ your fault.”

He supposed they could discuss it all later. The morphine was making him loopy, and he did nothing but smile widely and nod his head as he collapsed back into the pillow and gave a deep sigh. “Not my fault,” he agreed. “Not your fault,” he added, and he squeezed Bin's hand. “You're good, right? _I'm_ good, right?”

“Yeah,” he heard Bin reply as his eyes closed. “Just sleep for a bit more, okay? And I'll be here when you wake up.”

The third time he woke, Bin had kept true to his word. He had stayed right by Myungjun's side, and this time, Sanha was awake. Sanha stood next to Minhyuk, and Sanha noticed first when Myungjun was awake again. “Myungjun!” Sanha exclaimed, hurrying beside Bin. “Myungjun, are you okay?”

Minhyuk spoke. “He's fine, Sanha. Just loopy from the medicine, remember?”

“Don't call my boyfriend loopy!” Bin defended him. “He's perfect.” Bin reached down and kissed his forehead, then smiled down at him. “Did you sleep well again, Junnie?”

Myungjun nodded. The pain was less severe this time, and he was able to pick himself up a little bit better. Bin helped prop him up against the bed, pillows stacked behind him, and finally Myungjun was able to get a good look at the room around him. “How long have I been here?” he asked.

“You woke up yesterday,” Bin responded. “But I think it's been about a week now.”

“Have...have you been here this entire time?” Myungjun was confused why everyone who hated him was now surrounding him.

Bin giggled shyly. “I go to class,” he responded, “But I spend the night here. I'm not leaving you alone right now.”

Minhyuk stepped forward. “Sanha's here all the time,” he added, and he pulled Sanha to stand beside him. The boy blushed and looked at the ground. “He told me what happened. I'm sorry, Myungjun.”

“Why are you sorry?” Myungjun asked. He played with the thin blanket spread around his legs. “I mean, you...you were right. It was my mom.”

“Technically, it was Naesang who killed me,” Sanha interjected. “The other guy testified that it had been dark, they had been doing drugs, and they mistook the apartment numbers. By the time they realized I wasn't you, I had already seen them, so...so they killed me. The guy said they tried to stay low after that, and Naesang just hung around your place more in order to try and gain your trust so it would be easy to kill you.”

Myungjun nodded his head, listening to the explanation, “I guess...I guess they didn't expect you, Sanha.”

“Guess not,” Sanha agreed, though he didn't look too pleased. “I'm sorry I was only able to hold them off for a bit. They hurt you a lot before Officer Park shot Naesang.”

Sanha and Officer Park truly had saved him. Myungjun felt a lump form in his throat as he nodded his head. “Yeah,” he murmured.

The room would have turned silent then, had Jinwoo not suddenly walked in. The boy bowed his head to everyone, but he smiled brightly upon seeing Myungjun awake. “I'm glad you're up!” he said. In his hand, he held several bags of chips, and he passed them around to all of the other people in the room. “Dad's been coming by a lot to check on you. He should be here once his shift ends, so if you're still up, he'd be excited to see you.” Jinwoo had one more bag of chips, presumably his own, and he sat down in a spot near Myungjun's bed and grinned down at him. “You worried all of us, Myungjun.”

The last time they had spoken, Myungjun had treated Jinwoo harshly. The last time they had spoken, Myungjun said he hated Jinwoo.

Embarrassment and shame washed over him, and he glanced down at his lap and cleared his throat. “I'm sorry,” he apologized. “I'm...I'm so sorry, to all of you. I'm sorry, Jinwoo, for saying that I hated you, and I'm sorry, Minhyuk, for-for attacking you when you just told me the truth, and I'm sorry, Binnie, for lying to you all those months, and...god, I'm really sorry for not telling you about your death, Sanha. I'm-” He choked on a sob, and he dipped his head further into his chest. “I'm so sorry!” he cried out. His body hurt, his throat hurt, his heart hurt most of all. He just felt like bawling, and so he allowed himself to cry. Bin held him close, and Myungjun buried his head into his boyfriend's chest. Beside him, he heard Jinwoo comforting him, and he heard Sanha repeating, “It's alright, Myungjun, it's fine!” over and over again.

Despite their assurances, he didn't feel like he ought to be forgiven. Part of him wished they would hate him. Part of him wished they wouldn't forgive him. He felt like he deserved punishment for lying to all of them, and he told as much to Bin when he finally stopped crying.

Jinwoo was the one who answered, a scoff of, “I mean, you were shot, Myungjun, so I think that's punishment enough.”

He knew he didn't deserve such wonderful friends, either. They stayed with him until the sun set and the moon began to rise. Officer Park came by to pick up Jinwoo, and even he sat with Myungjun for a while, asking how he felt and explaining how long he would likely stay in the hospital and how often he would come back, anyway, for rehabilitation. He held Myungjun's hand as he spoke, and he offered nothing but kindness and love. Myungjun didn't want him to leave, and as he whimpered lightly when his hand was released, Officer Park bent over and smoothed his hair away from his face. “I'll be back tomorrow,” he promised. “I'm off tomorrow, and I'll stay here with you while Bin and Jinwoo go to school, okay?”

He had glanced up at Bin and narrowed his eyes. “Technically,” he said, “You're not supposed to be out this late. You need to be home by the curfew period.” But he did nothing against Bin; possibly because Bin had been crying again, and was now delivering his best pitiful face. Myungjun knew from personal experience that it was difficult to deny Bin of anything when he had that face. “I'll let it slide this once,” Officer Park said. “Until Myungjun gets better, I guess. He needs someone by his side, anyway.”

Bin brightened considerably after that, and once he left, Bin gushed, “He's such a great policeman! Jinwoo's lucky to have him as his dad!”

Jinwoo was extremely lucky. Minhyuk, too, had gone home to be with his family; Minhyuk was lucky. Sanha, dead and a spirit and stuck in the hospital room with Myungjun, had a mother who loved him throughout life. He was lucky.

Even Bin, at odds with his parents because of whom he chose to love, at least wasn't sold off for drugs. _Bin_ was lucky.

Myungjun longed to be one of them. He longed to have a mother who at least kept him alive, and right before Bin fell asleep, Myungjun asked, “Why did she try to kill me?”

Bin sleepily looked up at him. “Huh?”

“My mom,” Myungjun explained. “She...she's a drug addict. And I saw the drugs in her drawer. I saw them in her bedroom, and I smelled them on her – I knew she took drugs. I _knew_ she took them, bu-but I never thought...I didn't ever think she would be an addict. And I didn't know she could _do that_. I didn't know she c-could try to have me killed.” He blinked back the tears in his eyes. “Binnie, when...when I was bleeding, when Sanha was blocking Naesang from following me, di-did you know I saw her? I found her outside. Sh-She was smoking, and she had known all along I was going to die, and she just fucking stood outside and _smoked_.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “My mom was smoking an-and waiting for me to die so she could pay off her debts. I was so _useless_ to her that she didn't care if I died.”

Bin was silent throughout the whole ordeal, but as Sanha slept in the chair beside him, as the room was dark from the night outside, Bin finally whispered, “You were never useless to her. She just failed to see how wonderful, how beautiful, how amazing you truly are, Myungjun.” He bent over and kissed Myungjun on the lips, soft and gentle, a familiarity Myungjun craved at the moment. When he drew back, he stared down at Myungjun with sad eyes but a smile on his face. “Officer Park told me she turned herself in. He told me she kept crying over what she had done. She's a drug addict and an awful mother, but she never found you useless. Even if...even if I think she should stay away from you forever, I think she still loved you as a son. I just...I just believe she was misguided, is all.”

Myungjun thought of his poor mother, all alone in jail now. She had abused him and neglected him and, in the end, tried to murder him, and Myungjun felt pity for her. He felt sad she was gone.

But above all else, he felt relief he was finally away.

He cried loudly, sobbing into Bin's shirt, and Bin held him close again.

Hope sparkled in his chest. He had survived – surely that meant something?

Even through it all, even though he had suffered, surely he was meant to live.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally finally finally things are looking up for myungjun. we have two more chapters to go, and we'll see how things progress from here!
> 
> come visit me on either my tumblr ([@vonseal](http://www.vonseal.tumblr.com)) or my twitter ([@nightmjare](http://www.twitter.com/nightmjare))!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so we begin the end

Myungjun wasn't so used to people fawning over him.

He understood why Bin treated him kindly. They were dating, after all, and so Bin's adoration was the norm in Myungjun's life. Everyone else, however, treated him so differently than people had for his entire life. It was weird, nearly impossible to get used to, and Myungjun felt like some sort of celebrity with the treatment he was being given.

His friends were there with him as often as possible. Minhyuk always came over after school. He would set up his textbooks and Myungjun would help him out with some of his homework before he would head home. Bin, too, was there, usually a little tussled and messy from lengthy periods of soccer practice, but never without a smile on his face. Bin stayed overnight. He managed to get permission to let his curfew hours lift a little, thanks in part to Officer Park's convincing. Sanha, clearly a ghost and unable to be seen, chose to stay with Myungjun overnight and through the school hours. He left when Myungjun requested privacy, and he ensured Minhyuk told everyone else to give him adequate space, as well. Sanha had seen the best sides of Myungjun, as well as the worst sides. Myungjun trusted him, fully and completely, and could easily rest with Sanha by his side.

Officer Park was probably the oddest visitor Myungjun had throughout the days. He understood why Jinwoo came by. He and Jinwoo had rekindled their friendship, and so Jinwoo's presence was normal. Officer Park didn't really have an excuse of being school-friends, nor did he even have an excuse of being particularly _close_ , but he still came by as often as he could. He sat off to the side, normally, if anyone else was there, but sometimes it was just the two of them. Officer Park wouldn't ever know what to say. He would give updates on Myungjun's mother, and how the court case was going, and he would explain the medical terminology so Myungjun could understand easier, but when there was nothing for him to talk through, he was usually silent. Sometimes he would chew on his lip, as if in thought. Other times, he would quietly do some housekeeping, despite Myungjun's insistence that a lady came in everyday to clean up.

A week after Myungjun had first woken up, he finally said, “You don't have to keep coming over, Officer Park.”

The older man had looked at him in confusion, blinking his eyes and muttering, “What?”

Worried he offended the policeman, Myungjun cleared his throat and offered him a small smile. “I'm healing, you know. The doctors told me it might be a few more weeks before I can get out of bed, but...I survived. They said that was a miracle all by itself.”

He hadn't realized how grim things had looked for him until later, when Bin tearfully told him what happened in the days following his deep sleep. They hadn't been sure he would fully recover, or even fully awaken. The doctors had kept telling Bin and the others that his condition was severe and critical, and they weren't positive if they could fix it. He had started mumbling in his sleep, however, and as he opened his eyes a little bit more each day, he ended up becoming more stable, and the doctors were satisfied with the surgeries done to his abdomen. Now, he simply had to allow everything plenty of time to heal.

Waiting was tough, but he supposed it was probably better than being dead.

“What does you healing have to do with me coming over?” Officer Park asked.

Myungjun shrugged his shoulders. “I just...I mean, you don't have to wonder anymore whether or not I'll make it. I guess I will. I mean, it looks that way, doesn't it?” He laughed, a little bitterly, then picked up a hand. He had a few wires connected to it, one tube through his wrist, something for blood on his finger. He felt like a machine, these days, hooked up to larger machines, all made to monitor and help his body. He felt slightly embarrassed from it all, and from how much he now had to depend on others. He had to get sponge baths, as it was too dangerous for him to move, and he couldn't even use the bathroom properly. He always forced his visitors out of the room when things became too much for him. He liked to cry on his own sometimes, fueled by his lack of independence and by his current, miserable state, and by his loss of any future he probably ever had.

“I don't know what I'm going to do after I make it,” he blurted out suddenly to Officer Park. His eyes became downcast and he swallowed thickly. “I didn't have much, but...everything is gone. I don't...I don't have a home anymore, do I?” He didn't need to look up to know the answer. “And I don't have a mom. And my brother...god, I don't even give a shit about him. He obviously knows what happened at this point. The doctors said they talked to him. He doesn't care.” He settled back into his pillow and sighed loudly. “I can't go to school or do any work, and I'm going to be so behind – I'll have to repeat classes, I think. I've lost my chance to work towards my college life. I don't...have much of a future when I get out of here.”

While he certainly hated being so invalid to everyone around him, perhaps this was preferable to an uncertain life outside of the hospital room. He had a place to stay here, and he had friends that always came to see him, and he felt _safe_. Where was he going to go once he left? What was he going to _do_ once he left? Things were too worrisome, and he closed his eyes and turned his head. “Sorry,” he mumbled an apology to Officer Park. “I'm bothersome.”

“You're not,” Officer Park argued, the first words he had uttered since Myungjun had begun to think of the future. “Myungjun, you'll never be bothersome to me.”

Myungjun snorted and peeked through half-lidded eyes. “Sounds nicer than anything my mom ever said to me.”

Officer Park returned his stare, obviously in some sort of deep thought. Myungjun waited for a couple of seconds, then tried to sit himself up.

“Myungjun, be careful,” Officer Park warned. He moved forward, holding Myungjun's shoulders back from making any more sudden movements. “I heard the doctor say it's better to keep still.”

“I'm sore,” Myungjun complained.

“Here-” Officer Park set up more pillows behind Myungjun, allowing him the chance to stay in a seated position without fully sitting up. “There. Do you need anything to drink? Or eat? I have some applesauce for you, and I think Bin left you one of his famous smoothies – or, he told me it was famous.”

“It's famous for being awful,” Myungjun replied. “Just dump some of it in the sink and tell him I drank it.”

Officer Park laughed, then ruffled Myungjun's hair. He didn't remove his hand, however. He kept it there, patting it down slowly, before asking, “Would you like to move in with me?”

“What?” Myungjun glanced over at him in surprise.

“I just...I think it would be nice if you moved in with me. With my family,” Officer Park reiterated. “My apartment isn't that large. You'd have to share a room with Jinwoo. I've talked to him about it, though, and asked him how he would be, and he said he'll be excited if you do. I've asked my wife, as well, I've spoken with her, and as long as you're in agreement, Myungjun, we'd...we'd all be extremely happy to have you live with us.”

Myungjun continued to stare, feeling shock make its way through his body.

“I would, um...have to adopt you. I know you're not exactly a teenager, you're becoming a young adult, and next year, you'll be old enough to legally move out, but, um...otherwise, the local government would possibly put you up in a foster home, since there's no relatives willing to take you in.”

“My brother...?” Myungjun whispered, eyebrows furrowed together. “He's...been asked?”

Officer Park nodded his head sadly.

“Was he, uh, was he told they would give me to the state if...if he didn't take me in?”

Officer Park didn't answer that, but he needn't answer. Myungjun was already aware of how his brother probably reacted. He wouldn't want to take in Myungjun; once he left, he never looked back, never wondered how his little brother was faring in such an awful environment. Myungjun had begged him before, begged him to take him away, and his brother had come up with some stupid excuse.

He supposed it wouldn't be any different now.

Myungjun grit his teeth and squeezed his hands into fists before taking one large, shuddering breath. Officer Park murmured, “I'm sorry, Myungjun. And I know this is a lot to take in. You don't have to give me your answer right now. You...you can wait a few days, if you'd like.”

He was going to cry. He knew he was going to cry. But, before the tears came, he asked, “Can you get me his number? My...my brother's number? I need to call him. Please.”

Officer Park seemed to understand Myungjun's struggles and emotions. He didn't hesitate to find the number for him, the number the doctors had used. He wrote it down and passed Myungjun's cell phone over. “I'll wait outside,” he said, standing from his seat. “I'll go and, um, I'll go and grab you some more soda. I think you're running low. Just call me if you need me, okay?”

Myungjun, jaw tight, nodded his head, and he would've called right then and there if Sanha hadn't suddenly walked right through the closed door and sat in a seat next to Myungjun's bed. He gazed at Myungjun with wide eyes, and Myungjun finally asked, “ _What?_ ”

“I overheard you and Officer Park talking. Are you really going to be his son? That'd be so cool for you! I know you and Jinwoo-”

“Sanha? Not...not right now,” Myungjun stammered. “I might not be his son. I might...convince my brother to come back and help me.”

“Why wouldn't you rather go with Officer Park? He's nice.”

Myungjun gazed down at his phone and at the number in his hands. “He's not...family, though. And...and maybe my family sucks. Maybe it's-it's the worst family ever. But I just...I want someone in my family to want me, Sanha. I want someone to take me in and care for me, and I want it to be someone in my family.”

Sanha nodded his head and leaned forward, pursing his lips as he stared at Myungjun. “You're probably right,” Sanha said. “But I think...family doesn't always have to be blood-related, does it? Because...um, because sometimes I thought to myself...sometimes, I thought it'd be really nice if-if we had been brothers.” Sanha's face was red and he looked embarrassed. “Even though we fought all the time. I mean, I never had a brother, and you...seemed to really care for me.”

Myungjun gazed over at him, feeling guilt stir in his heart. “But I let you die,” he whispered. “Would a brother do that?”

“You said you thought it had been a joke,” Sanha responded. “You said you thought I was messing around. And I remember...I remember some of it. I remember banging on the wall, and we...we did that when we got mad at each other. We banged on the wall. There was no reason for you to think I was doing anything other than messing around.”

He was happy enough that their misunderstanding had been cleared, even if he knew he should have done _something_ when Sanha was shot, rather than sit there in shock and silence. He wondered why Sanha forgave him. He wondered why Sanha came to save him. “Why did you rescue me?”

“Because you knocked,” Sanha replied.

“And how did you know I knocked?”

“I...don't know.” Sanha laughed lightly and sat back in his seat. “Minhyuk said we have a connection, though. I think...I think I heard it in my head, and instantly, I don't know why, but I thought you were in trouble. I thought you might need my help. So I left Minhyuk and came to you, instead. I'm...I'm glad I did. Even if you don't consider us brothers, I'm glad I saved you, Myungjun. You managed to finally bring my mom peace, and I'm so thankful you did that.”

Myungjun had to swallow past the lump in his throat. Sanha stood as Myungjun composed himself, then gestured to Myungjun's phone. “I'll let you get to that,” he said. “Tell me how it goes, okay? I won't listen in.”

He turned to leave, but before he could disappear, Myungjun whispered, “You're more like a brother to me than my real brother, Sanha.”

The boy glanced back at him and grinned, then shot him a thumbs-up. “I won't let you forget you said that,” he joked, and while Myungjun chuckled, he disappeared.

Myungjun knew he shouldn't feel disappointed no matter what his real brother had to say. He knew he had people who loved and cared for him, who would stick with him while he lay in a hospital bed for weeks. There was no reason for him to feel any sort of pain and sadness from rejection.

Yet, those feelings rose up the moment his brother answered the phone, a cautious, “Hello?”

Myungjun sniffed and squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to stop any tears from rolling down his cheeks. “Hi, Hyunjun,” he greeted.

It was quiet for a second, then his brother asked, “Myungjun? Is that you?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Oh.” Hyunjun hesitated. “Are...are you feeling better?”

“I'm still under orders not-not to move,” Myungjun replied. “I'll be...I'll be in the hospital for the next couple of weeks.” He waited for a response, and when he received none, he asked, “Why haven't you come to visit me?”

Hyunjun cleared his throat. “I'm busy,” he replied.

Too busy to visit his wounded brother? Myungjun felt ill. He knew better than to vomit, though, lest he ruin what the doctors fixed. “I almost died,” Myungjun said. “Mom gave my life away for money for her drug-”

“I know what she did.” Hyunjun sounded frustrated. “Why are you calling, Myungjun? I'm busy.”

“Why won't you take me in?” Myungjun asked. He sniffed again and rubbed at his nose with his free hand. “We're brothers, and Mom tried to kill me, an-and you're just letting me go to-to some random foster home?”

“I'm busy.” Hyungjun gave a loud sigh. “I don't have time to care for you. You'll be fine. Once you're better, they'll find somewhere nice for you to go. I'm sure things will be easier once you're away from Mom, too, right? You're smart, and you'll find work. I think-”

“What the hell are you even busy with?” Myungjun asked. He felt anger course through him, and he glared holes at the wall in front of him. “I don't even give a shit if you don't take me in, but you haven't tried contacting me. You haven't tried calling me. You've just talked to the doctors, and they told you I'd get sent away, and what did you say to that? _Fine, sure, be my guest, it's not like I cared for him at all, anyway?_ Is that what you said? Is that what you thought?”

“Myungjun-”

But Myungjun didn't let him talk. Myungjun didn't want him to talk. “You left me with Mom. You left me with a woman who hit me and neglected me. You _knew_ she did, too! You knew what it was like, too, and I was just a fucking kid, and you _left_ me. You didn't bother telling the authorities. You didn't bother trying to gain custody. I looked up to you, I looked _to you_ to rescue me, because you were older and more capable, and you told me goodbye, and you _left_. And now she's a drug addict, and she had me shot in the fucking stomach, and it was a miracle I got away and survived, and you never once thought to check up on me.”

“Myungjun, look-”

“What are you so busy with, that you could just leave me to bleed out?”

Hyunjun was quiet again, as he always was, then he responded, “I have a wife. And I have a son. They're my family now, Myungjun. Look, I'm sorry, but I can't help you. I don't want to be involved anymore in-”

“I don't want to be your brother,” Myungjun snapped, gripping harshly at his phone. “I'm glad you're away from me. I...I can't believe you're...I can't believe you don't care.” He waited for Hyunjun to make a comeback, to retort, to say _something_ , but he never did.

Myungjun hung up his cell phone and leaned against the pillows Officer Park had set up for him, struggling, once more, not to cry.

He truly didn't have any family left. However, he knew he was no longer on his own. While his blood relatives might have given him up and tossed him aside, while they might have left him to wallow in that blood they all shared, he had people around him who only knew him for a short time and yet still appreciated him, still loved him.

Myungjun didn't need his mom. He didn't need his brother. He didn't need anyone who had ever once tried to claim they were _family_.

He needed Bin. He needed Minhyuk. He needed Officer Park, and Jinwoo, and he definitely needed Sanha, because Sanha was his brother now.

And Officer Park, it seemed would be his father now.

He looked back down at his phone, and through a watery gaze, texted the policeman, _is the offer to adopt me still good?_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cant believe how close this fic is to being done. one more chapter, yall, and it's over!
> 
> come visit me on either my tumblr ([@vonseal](http://www.vonseal.tumblr.com)) or my twitter ([@nightmjare](http://www.twitter.com/nightmjare))!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i rlly cant believe this has ended. :') its bittersweet

As his body healed, the pain seemed to throb in his abdomen. Most days, Myungjun had heavy doses of medication in order to calm his aching body. It caused exhaustion and sleepiness, and he felt he was asleep more often than he was awake.

Still, regardless, he always had someone to wake up to.

Most of the time, it was Bin, still living at the hospital until Myungjun was released. Bin would usually fall asleep over all of his schoolbooks, drool pooling on one page and his cheeks squished uncomfortably against paper. Myungjun would always wake him up and force him to sleep in a better position.

Sometimes, it was Officer Park, as well, who would stop by for a few hours after a late shift at the police station. He wouldn't sleep like Bin would. Instead, he would clean the room while Myungjun slept, and when Myungjun awoke, he would engage in conversation, discuss how he had gotten a bed for Myungjun, how they might move into a larger apartment to make room for the new member of their family, or how excited he was for Myungjun to come home with him.

And always, it was Sanha.

Sanha was with him regardless, a watchful protector through the days and nights. He only left on occasion, when he wanted to hang out with Minhyuk for a few hours, but otherwise he stayed close by. Myungjun had asked him finally, during one period where he was dozing off, “Are you ever going to ascend, Sanha?”

And Sanha, sitting beside him, bit his lip before slowly nodding his head. “Soon,” he promised. “When you're all better.”

He claimed he wanted to ensure Myungjun was fully well before leaving. He claimed he wanted to ensure that Myungjun didn't also turn into a ghost. After all, he said, if he left, then Myungjun would have no one else by his side should he succumb to any sudden infection or illness that struck when he was at his weakest.

It made sense, then, but Myungjun couldn't help but be suspicious when Sanha would sneak into the hospital room late at night, cheeks pink and rosy. Myungjun paid close attention to the boy and began to notice signs that told him Sanha probably didn't want to leave any longer. He would still when Myungjun brought up Minhyuk's name, he would watch longingly as Bin planted kisses onto Myungjun's forehead, and he avoided discussing what he did when away from the hospital room.

Myungjun knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, something was up, and he finally couldn't help but ask, “Is there something going on between you and Minhyuk?”

It was late at night. Bin was asleep, sprawled uncomfortably on the couch the nurses had provided for him, and Sanha sat in a chair, watching the television set Myungjun had just turned on.

The ghost startled at Myungjun's question, then defended himself with, “No. Why do you ask weird questions, Myungjun?”

“Well, _you've_ been acting weird enough to warrant these weird questions,” Myungjun responded. He sat himself up in bed and raised his eyebrows. “I thought you told me you wouldn't do anything with Minhyuk because you're a ghost.”

“I didn't _do_ anything!” Sanha fussed. “You're being pushy.”

“I'm just concerned, you know. I...I don't want either of you hurt,” Myungjun said, calmly, carefully. “I still stand by what I said before – you're like a brother to me, and I just...I want everything to be alright.”

Sanha pouted, sticking out his bottom lower lip, and refused to respond.

“It's nothing to be ashamed of, if you like him,” Myungjun continued. “But you know you'll just hurt him in the long run. If you make him fall in love with you, and then you leave, he's going to be hurt for a long time. He's really young, and to do that to him-”

“He won't remember it.”

Myungjun blinked. “What?”

Sanha shifted in his seat, looking even more uncomfortable than before. “He won't...he won't remember anything that we've shared so far.”

That didn't make any sense. Myungjun felt confused, and he leaned forward in bed, eyebrows furrowed. “What does that mean, Sanha?”

“I...I know how to ascend,” Sanha whispered. “I can do it whenever I want. I don't even need Minhyuk's help anymore. We figured it out, and it's just _super_ simple, but once I leave, then...then no one who saw me will actually remember me.”

“What?” Myungjun repeated. “Why...not? Didn't Minhyuk remember the other people he's helped ascend?”

Sanha took a deep breath. “With them, he was able to...I don't know how to explain it, but I guess _exorcise_ them is the best word. He had to work and put in effort to get rid of them. But with me, he...he says because I'm a more peaceful ghost than they were, and because I figured out who my killers were by myself, without him telling me, then I have to go by myself, too. And if I go by myself, I'll be erased from his memory, an-and from your memory – no one will remember anything about me as a ghost. All you'll remember is that I died.”

He glanced over at Myungjun, who stared at him with wide eyes, and sadly added, “You won't remember that we became brothers, Myungjun.”

Myungjun felt his heart drop. If what Sanha said was true, then all Myungjun would remember of him was how obnoxious he was, how awful he was, how _much_ Myungjun hated him through his life. He stayed silent, staring in alarm, as Sanha rambled, “You won't remember how I was with you when you got bullied, o-or how you let me sleep in your bed when I got scared, or how I-I saved you, and how we became brothers – you won't remember _any_ of that! I'm so scared to disappear, because no one will remember me, and I...I want you guys to remember me for how I am now. I don't want to be forgotten by Minhyuk, and I don't want to be reduced back to that stupid neighbor of yours – what do I do, Myungjun?”

Myungjun snapped out of his shock and instead answered Sanha as calmly as possible. “You go anyway. Sanha, I...I won't forget any of this. Minhyuk might claim I will, but I _won't_.”

“You will,” Sanha bemoaned sadly. “All of you will.”

“What if Minhyuk exorcises you, like he did with the other ghosts. Would it work then?”

Sanha shook his head. “He won't. He says he can't, because that entails cutting me down, and...he said he loves me too much to do that.” Sanha gave a bitter laugh, then slumped over in his seat. “He loves me, he said. What do I do now? How am I supposed to react to that, Myungjun? Minhyuk loves me – how do I just leave now?”

Myungjun frowned before reaching over to grab onto Sanha's hand. “You leave because you love him, because you love all of us, and because you love yourself. If you stay, you'll be immortal and you won't ever get the chance to leave. At least...at least this way, Sanha, you leave now, before Minhyuk falls more in love, before you don't want to _ever_ leave.” When Sanha didn't look truly convinced, Myungjun continued, “I want you to stay, you know, but...will you be truly happy living as a fifteen-year old ghost, Sanha? Minhyuk is already older than you – he'll just continue to grow older and older. I mean, even tomorrow, he'll be older than he is today, and you'll still be fifteen.”

Sanha bit his lip in worry. “I should leave,” he confirmed, nodding his head. “But...” He trailed off, and Myungjun tugged his arm.

“Tell me, Sanha. But _what?_ ”

“But when you...when you find me in heaven, Myungjun, will we still be brothers?”

In that instance, once more, Myungjun was reminded that Sanha was just a young child. He didn't ask to become a ghost, and he didn't _want_ to become a ghost. It was a pitiful state of being, and Myungjun longed for nothing more than for Sanha to be alive and well, to really become a little brother to him.

“We will,” Myungjun promised. He held out his pinky finger and grinned. “I'll make sure, Sanha, that when I finally see you in heaven, you'll be my brother.”

His words seemed to put Sanha at ease. He settled back in bed with a yawn, tracing a thumb over Sanha's skin. They still held hands – Sanha's grip was tight, and it seemed he was unlikely to let go anytime soon. “So you're going to leave when I get all better, right?” Myungjun asked, voice quiet as he closed his eyes. “You have to wait for me to make a full recovery, okay?”

He heard Sanha sigh, and then the boy muttered, “Yeah. I'll wait until then.”

 

 

When Myungjun woke, Bin held onto his hand, and Myungjun felt content.

 

*****************************************

 

_Seven Years Later_  

 

It was nice to get out and hang with his friends every so often.

Myungjun loved his job, and he loved where he lived, and he dearly loved his husband, but sometimes he needed to relax with a drink or two, a couple of close friends by his side to enjoy his free time with. Jinwoo, sitting to his left, smirked over at Dongmin as the man fussed and complained and ranted, fueled by alcohol and loneliness.

“He had the _gall_ to text me last night that he wouldn't talk to me at all today. Do you know _why?_ Because the conference he's at is more important!”

“Well, it's his job,” Jinwoo pointed out. “He's just making money to feed you.”

“I make plenty of money to do that myself,” Dongmin mumbled. He sighed loudly and playing with the drink in front of him, swishing the liquid back and forth in its small cup. “When he became the director of that museum, I didn't expect him to suddenly go off to conferences and leave me behind.”

Myungjun shrugged his shoulders and shared a small smile with Jinwoo, who rolled his eyes in response. “It's to better his career and find people to network with,” Myungjun commented. “Besides, he video-chats you every night he's away! If that isn't dedication, I don't know what is. He really likes you, Dongmin.”

As Dongmin blushed, Jinwoo said, “I still think Minhyuk has the coolest job. I mean, a director of a paranormal museum? God, what are the chances I'd ever be friends with someone who has _that_ job title?” Dongmin still looked pleased, and Jinwoo took his chance and shoved Myungjun's shoulder. “Children's book author isn't as exciting,” he teased.

“And illustrator,” Myungjun argued. “I illustrate everything, too. I think that's cool enough. Anyway, as my publisher, you shouldn't be talking shit.” He finished the sole beer he had been nursing, then stood from his seat and patted Jinwoo's shoulder. “Make sure he gets home fine,” he said, gesturing to Dongmin. “And tell Dad I'll come to see him this weekend, alright? I've just been busy recently with the new book.”

Jinwoo gave him a thumbs-up and grinned. “Right. He'll be excited to see you!”

Myungjun waved goodbye to Dongmin, who hardly paid attention, probably too engrossed with messaging sappy declarations of love to Minhyuk.

Walking home was peaceful. He had moved to a better neighborhood once Bin was old enough to move in with him. They had a cute apartment in a small town, with fairy lights that hung from trees and neighbors that were always friendly and helpful. Myungjun felt peace, finally, for once in his life. His mother had tried to contact him a few times earlier on, when he graduated high school, but Myungjun was officially adopted by the Parks, and as such, Mrs. Park became his new mother. She fit the criteria better, anyway. He could ignore his fake mother, then, the mother who gave birth to him but still tried to end his life. He liked his _new_ family, and he knew he would like them forever.

He had Officer Park as his father, the father he never had, and Jinwoo as his brother, the brother he never had.

And waiting for him as he neared the apartment, right on their porch, was Bin, grinning widely and waving one hand. In his other arm was the figure of their baby, three months old and just as beautiful as the day they had brought him home from the hospital.

“Oh, my lovely family!” Myungjun exclaimed, rushing forward and letting himself be drawn into Bin's embrace. He could smell Bin's shampoo and his manly cologne, mixed with the sweet, soft scent of baby powder. It was the smell that dominated Myungjun's senses, and he wasn't quite ready to give it up just yet.

“How were Jinwoo and Dongmin?” Bin asked as he passed their baby over to Myungjun. “Is Dongmin still whining over Minhyuk being gone?”

Myungjun snorted, then he nuzzled his nose into his child's cheek. The baby laughed, loudly and shrilly, and Myungjun giggled. “He certainly _is_ being whiny!” Myungjun exclaimed, voice high-pitched and directed more towards the baby than to Bin. “Dongmin is the whiniest man ever! Oh, my sweet, little boy will never be as whiny as he is, will he?”

The baby screeched in joy, clasping tiny hands around Myungjun's finger and shaking it wildly. Myungjun couldn't help but laugh again, and then he glanced over at Bin. “Jinwoo's good, in any case,” he said, voice returning to normal. “He's had another book under review for publishing. He still says my kid books are better.”

“He's supposed to say that. He's your brother,” Bin pointed out. He leaned over and planted a solid kiss onto Myungjun's forehead, then smoothed his hair back onto his scalp. “You look tired, Junnie. You were up and out before I woke – is work difficult for you?”

Myungjun smiled and melted into Bin's soft touches. “Mm, not at all difficult when I get to come home to this,” he murmured, pleased with the sweet affection being showered on him.

Growing with Bin by his side had come with its fair share of difficulties. They both clearly still had issues to overcome; Bin had lost contact completely with his family members after he moved in with Myungjun, and had wallowed with pity for months realizing he no longer had parents. Myungjun tried to keep his spirits up, while battling his own nightmares and unresolved trauma from _his_ mother's betrayal.

Myungjun's new family, fortunately, had stepped in and taken the role of kind, caring guardians. Not only did Myungjun become their son, but Bin, too, became an honorary member of the family, and was always prompted to call his new family by their titles; Dad, Mom, and _Big Bro JinJin_.

(Bin had politely declined Jinwoo's nickname. “Your loss,” Jinwoo had said with a smirk playing on his lips.)

At least their child now had grandparents. It wasn't at all a conventional family situation, but Myungjun decided this was better than having a deadbeat grandmother, or else grandparents who hated their son because of whom he chose to love. Officer Park and Mrs. Park had never shown them anything but kindness and goodness, and Myungjun was proud that his baby could grow with them.

Things, finally, could start settling down. Myungjun felt satisfied with the way his life had turned out, and as Bin led him inside, he couldn't help but blurt out, “Binnie, I love you so much.”

Bin turned and smiled, and responded, “I love you so much, too, Junnie.”

The baby in Myungjun's hands gave a small gargle, his own special way of communicating, and Myungjun tutted as he cuddled him close. “I always love you, too, Sanha, don't you worry.”

Sanha laughed and gripped Myungjun's clothes. When they finally parted from their hug, Myungjun said, “Here, let's try and lay him down to sleep.”

Bin followed him into the nursery, then snorted, “I still can't believe you named him after your neighbor.”

“Sanha's a good, strong name,” Myungjun defended his choice. He placed Sanha in his crib, making sure he was cozy and snug with his blankets, then turned on the mobile hanging above him.

“Yeah, but you hated your neighbor.”

“Sure,” Myungjun agreed. “He was loud and rude and obnoxious. But I still don't think his name deserves to be so readily forgotten.”

Bin made a non-committal noise, then kissed Myungjun again. “I'm going to shower before bed. You need to come, too, quickly, alright? I need to lavish you with my love.”

“Gross!” Myungjun made a face. “Not in front of my child, Bin!”

His only response was laughter, and then Bin left. Myungjun was faced with the silence of the room, until Sanha gurgled again, as babies do, looking up at him with such wide eyes.

Myungjun smiled softly down at him and reached into the crib, running a thumb over the soft skin of his cheek. “Sanha. You like that name, don't you? Ooh, don't listen to Bin. Sanha _is_ a good name, and even if you were named after a brat, he wasn't a bad kid. Not at all.”

As he allowed the mobile to run, as he allowed Sanha's eyes to close, Myungjun gave a deep sigh, and, peering over at Sanha, he whispered, “Besides, I told him I wouldn't forget.”

The night was serene. Things were quiet. And Myungjun, finally, knew everyone was at peace.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so so much to all who read, commented, liked this story! all of you have shown me such awesome, amazing support, and i loved writing every single chapter of this stupid, sady story! it went through a lot of changes; originally, it was planned to be a comedy, myungjun was supposed to fall in love with jinwoo (who was the one who could see ghosts), and myungjun was also supposed to be the one who actually killed sanha. but plans change, and while the beginning stages of this story were weird, i think i finally found the perfect niche. in any case, yall seemed to like it, so that's success enough, right?
> 
> so, what's next? well i still have [kcs ambition](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14981921/chapters/34721237), which will be ongoing until i die. also [the mini adventures of lee dongmin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12473860/chapters/28390844), but updates are sporadic so don't hold ur breath. i'm also writing a new myungjin fic (i give updates and spoilers constantly on twitter!) which is set to be published in mid-august, if i stick to my rigid guideline. i'm also planning a 2J fic (eunwoo/mj), and i'm just working on planning out the last few chapters - chapter one has been written of that one! and [myungbin week](https://fy-myungbin.tumblr.com/post/176383105048/myungbin-week-2018) is coming NEXT week, so i'll have a few myungbin fics out for yall to enjoy!
> 
> come visit me on either my tumblr ([@vonseal](http://www.vonseal.tumblr.com)) or my twitter ([@nightmjare](http://www.twitter.com/nightmjare))!


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